


The One: Game of Thrones Edition

by motorbike_on_the_avenue



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Modern AU, Reality Dating Show, Slow Burn, Wedding, but i'm going for it anyway, but you're getting anyway, i guess, media darlings, reality show, the fic nobody asked for, twists don't work when you know the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-03-07 14:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 236,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorbike_on_the_avenue/pseuds/motorbike_on_the_avenue
Summary: Jaime Lannister is this year's suitor on the US's #1 dating show; The One. Brought over to the UK by 'Littlefinger' productions, 20 women will spend 6 weeks competing to be voted by the public to be crowned 'The One' to wed Jaime.One condition; they won't met each other until the actual wedding....or at least they're not supposed to.But Jaime has his own reasons for doing this - not just because his father is ready to thrust him back into the limelight - and he has no intention of keeping to the rules of the show. What would be the point? He already knows who's going to win. If this is what he has to do to get his happy ever after, then he will. And nobody will be able to take that from him.Brienne Tarth is literally living her worst nightmare made real; in a house with 19 pretty, perfect women. But it's just a stupid bit of 'fun' to please her father, and get her name out there. She'll be gone at the first elimination...right?But there's more to reality TV than Brienne ever thought, like the dark underside, the manipulation...and the potential to fall in love with someone you know you can't have.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to my new fic. I wrote this idea for a different fandom, a couple of years ago. I always had the intention if I ever got into another fandom, enough to write fanfiction that I could use the same idea, just switch all the characters. 
> 
> And lo and behold, here we are 
> 
> I'm just uploading the first chapter for now, because I want it posted before the final episode airs. 
> 
> There is going to be Jaime / Cersei for most of this because you can't have one without the other, and it slotted in nicely, although they are not siblings in this because I just could not write that in a modern AU. But; happy ending I promise. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy, because I'm really looking forward to this fic and I hope you are too!

Brienne Tarth was going to die. Not literally, she hastily added, in case any of the fates or gods should be listening. Although, she mused, giving her surroundings another quick glance, this is most definitely how she'd always pictured hell. Surrounded by dozens of women all of them skinny and pretty and perfect.

Brienne was not skinny. She wasn't overweight either, but she was large – 6 foot 3 – and most of her was made of muscle. Her shoulders and hips were broad, her face was square and no one would ever think she'd be able to fit into any one of the dresses the other women were wearing.

Brienne wasn’t pretty either. People had said it to her since she was born, trying to make sure she knew her place. Brienne had never really understood that – yes, she wasn’t going to feature in a beauty magazine any time soon, but so what? Being ugly was just fact. Same as her blonde hair, or her blue eyes. Sometimes she was glad of it; she had to push herself twice as hard, for what she wanted, had to perfect a thick skin and a blank face so people wouldn’t know they’d gotten to her. And they were always great skills to have.

Brienne wasn’t perfect either, but she knew one thing for sure; no matter what you looked like, nobody was perfect. These women with their long flowing hair, and their silk gowns, beautiful smiles on their faces, might look like there wasn’t a single thing in the world that could get to them; but Brienne knew better. Perfection didn’t exist.

No matter what the media tried to tell everyone.

‘It's a little nerve wracking isn’t it?’ said one of the women, sitting opposite Brienne. Her words echoed in the silent room, as everyone turned to stare. ‘I mean, I know some of you have done this hundreds of times, but I’ve rarely been photographed before, let alone appeared on camera.’

‘You get used to it after a while,’ Margaery Tyrell said. ‘And, if you get through the first week, you'll forget all about the cameras. Honestly, there’s nothing to be afraid of.’ Margery leaned forward and grabbed the other woman’s hand. ‘And everyone will be here to help you if you do get a little nervous.’ The girl nodded, smiling back and relaxing slightly, the tension in her shoulders visibly dropping.

Brienne wished she had that ability Margaery Tyrell had. She wasn’t even sure what ability it was, to be able to speak to people and have them instantly under your spell. Charm, maybe.

‘Excellent, everyone’s here.’ A man with carefully styled black hair swept into the room, not even bothering to check if that was true or not. All the ladies had had it drilled into them in the weeks of media training given to them before this launch; you did as you were told and appeared where you needed to be or you were off the show.

And for whatever reason, all the ladies here wanted to be on the show. At least for a week. ‘My name is Petyr Baelish. I’m the producer, and the one responsible for bringing this show to the UK.’ Petyr flashed a smile around the room. Brienne was reminded of a shark, just before dinner time. ‘I trust you all remember the rules?’ Around the room 20 women nodded their heads, none of them daring to speak. Even women who Brienne would bet had never been intimated in their life remained silent. Mr Baelish had the power to ruin any of them with a bad edit. If there was anyone you wanted on your side for the next six weeks, he was it. ‘Excellent. Who can tell me the most important one?’

A hundred ran through Brienne’s head. Don’t leave the house. No mobiles allowed. Or laptops, or tablets, or anything that could connect you to the outside world. No flirting or relations of any kind with any of the crew members. The guy who’d had to read Brienne the rules had blushed and snorted at that. Clearly, he’d realised Brienne wouldn’t be the one breaking that rule. Or that any of the crew would be interested in a woman like her.

Gods. What was she doing here again?

‘To have no contact with the outside world, in case we somehow learn something we’re not supposed to?’ Margaery Tyrell spoke up again, a sweet smile on her face.

Petyr turned to her, his grin sharpening, if such a thing were possible. ‘Miss Tyrell. Do you honestly think that anything you learn from the outside world will influence your time in here? What, are you scared if you learn the people don’t love you, you’ll fall into a pit of despair and stop putting your best foot forward?’

Margaery blinked her doe eyes up at him, smoothing out a crease in her long silk dress. ‘Maybe, if this were a family friendly dating show, like the one I’m sure you all know from the US, that would be something to take heed of. But I’m running things now, and I assure you, things will be very different here.’ He was almost stalking towards the women on the other side of the room, and Brienne exchanged alarmed looks with the woman opposite her. Petyr turned at the last minute, sweeping another look around at everyone. ‘No, my dears. The most important rule I have for you, is to go for it. We want drama, we want everything you can throw at us.’ Another smile broke out on his face, this one even scarier than the first. ‘But don’t get caught. You wouldn’t want to get thrown off the show now, would you? Or even worse, see what I can do with two minutes of footage.’ With that he swept from the room, the double doors banging loudly behind him.

Brienne swallowed. What the hell had she let herself in for?

*

The One was a reality dating show. Brienne had watched a couple of the earlier seasons, before she’d decided to give up on love and dating – even fictional couples, and reality TV show couples - completely, and throw herself into work. It was too easy to root for the wrong people, to have your heart ripped out week after week due to bad writing, or the public voting for the wrong people.

So far, The One had only aired in the US. This was to be its first season in the UK, after Petyr Baelish’s company ‘Littlefinger’ had acquired the rights to bring it overseas. A light-hearted dating show, where twenty men usually stayed in a house together, competing for the one woman who’d they’d marry at the end of six weeks.

The catch was, that the contestants and the suitor wouldn’t meet before their wedding. A mixture of other reality shows crammed together; the format seemed to be a big ratings hit. The public would vote for ‘The One’ they thought the suitor should end up married to, the rest getting voted off each week in waves. Each week, the suitor would come up with an activity for the contestants to take part in. Something the suitor enjoyed, so the watching public could see how well the contestants in the house would get along with the suitor.

If Brienne had had reservations before now, after Petyr had left, a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She knew there would be changes – it would have a later air time in the UK than the one in the US. The contestants were different as well; usually they were normal women, who’d applied to be on the show.

That wasn’t good enough for the first season in the UK, though. These women, that Brienne was surrounded by, were all someone. They might not all be featured in the tabloids every week, but everyone here came from a well-known family, or had riches to their name. There were women in this room that Brienne had admired on the front of glossy magazines, wishing she could look like them.

‘Well,’ Margaery said, standing up, and walking over to the doors, ‘that’s us told isn’t it?’ She smiled around the room, and a lot of faces smiled back at her. A nervous tension was filling the room. They were about to film their introductions for the first episode.

What if the public found them lacking? Decided against them straight away, even before they could open their mouths, or show off their skills? Brienne had grown up on Big Brother. She’d heard the crowd boo after a thirty second video.

It doesn’t matter, she reminded herself. You’re only here to stop your father nagging. ‘I know some of you in this room, but I do wonder if we should all introduce ourselves. It would help us all to get to know each other a little better,’ Margaery said. ‘After all, some of us will be sharing a house for up to six weeks. I know I’d rather be with friends than a bunch of strangers.’

‘You really think we’re here to make lifelong friends?’ drawled a voice from the corner of the room. ‘Isn’t that sweet?’ The shadow swept into the center of the room, a dress much more suited to a medieval ball than a TV show sweeping the floor. ‘Or do you just want to figure out the competition before the first day? I can do that without all the nonsense.’

‘Cersei Baratheon,’ Margaery breathed, holding out her hands as if she expected Cersei to hold them. ‘I heard a rumour you would be here too. How fun for it to be true.’ A ripple settled between the two women, a beat of tension. ‘It’s nice to see you finally out of mourning. How long has it been since your dear husband passed? Three years? Two?’ There was nothing but pleasantness on Margaery’s face, almost like she was discussing the weather. ‘I suppose at your age, it’s hard to find someone, but I never would have thought you’d need to resort to something like this to find a date.’ A red-haired girl snorted into a bottle of water she was drinking, but quickly changed her expression to a blank look when Cersei turned her head. ‘Anyway, thank you so much. This is perfect. I’ll go first, and then you can tell everyone about yourself. Unless you’d like me to do it for you? I’m sure there’s plenty of things I could say.’ Brienne had met Margaery before. Several times in fact. Both their families had businesses that crossed from time to time, and Brienne had known Margaery since she was born, even if they rarely spent more than a few minutes in each other's company. She considered her a friend, and had only felt a little sick when she realised the type of woman she’d be going up against.

‘I don’t need an introduction,’ Cersei spat out. She looked around the room. ‘Please, raise your hand and tell dear Margaery if you haven’t heard of me.’ Nobody raised their hand. Cersei Baratheon was the most famous face in the room. Everyone knew it.

She had been married to the politician Robert Baratheon since she was eighteen. They’d been billed as young love, teen sweethearts, just too adorable not to be splashed across the newspapers every week. The tall, blonde beauty, next to the dark handsome Robert made a picture perfect pair. Robert was on the up and up – and if no one ever mentioned what had happened to his actual first girlfriend, then what did the public care? Only those in the know knew she’d even existed.

Robert, having worked his way up, was a shoo in for prime minster. Just ten years ago, as far as Brienne could recall. It was practically already being written about in history books.

And then the women had started coming forward. With their children, the ones who had been fathered by Robert. The family man had been shunted sideways, his career down the drain, his wife pictured leaving their house, scarf around her head, sunglasses on, their two small black-haired children with looks of confusion on their faces being ushered to the car by their mother.

The divorce was in the works, when Robert’s life was suddenly taken. A heart attack, according to the reports. And his wife – Cersei – was featured tearfully being overhead about how she’d still loved him, and was hoping they’d be able to work things out, at least for the sake of Tommen and Myrcella, their kids.

Nobody wrote about the smirk Cersei had been pictured with at the funeral. A quick one second snapshot that was hushed up and deleted from all corners of the internet.

‘But you’re right,’ Cersei said, switching to a smile and laughing. ‘Maybe introductions would be a good idea. After all, I know barely any of you.’ Her eyes lingered on a bi racial woman at the far side of the room, who cast her eyes down, then on a drab looking girl who was clutching the plain cotton skirt she was wearing. ‘I know Petyr wanted the crème of the crop for his first season. Such a shame the other producers wanted to throw a few ‘diverse’ ones in.’ This time her gaze shot to Brienne.

A blush crept up her neck, but she refused to look away. Cersei’s eyes were a sparkling green, like a Disney villain's fire, alight with plans and horrors Brienne didn’t want to know.

‘Excellent,’ Margaery said, clapping her hands together. ‘We don’t have long. I predict we’re be called out one by one soon enough. Let’s keep it short and simple girls.’ She smiled around the room again, the tension that had been building when Cersei was center of attention, ebbing, back to the shadows. Margaery's smiles were like the sun, clearing away the cobwebs Cersei painted everywhere. ‘My name is Margaery Tyrell. You might know my name from the ‘Tyrell’ fragrance. My Grandmother is the founder of the company.’ She tossed a tawny curl over her shoulder, displaying the huge rose pin on her shoulder. ‘Our signature fragrance is ‘The Rose’. It’s the best-selling perfume in the world. We have many other items to our name – washing powder, bubble bath, and romm scent to name a few! Whatever your price, you can smell of roses too!’ She beamed around the room, and someone started up a slow confused clap, that echoed in a couple of places. Even Brienne brought her hands together a few times.

The woman standing next to Margaery hesitated, then stood up straight when everyone’s else’s attention stayed on her.

‘I’m Yara Greyjoy. My father founded the Greyjoy water parks.’ Greyjoy’s was the second most loved amusement park in the world. There were seven of them, each with different rides, and characters. Famed for their water roller coasters, where people went plunging through waterfalls, or ran down water walkways in giant inflatable plastic balls, everybody had been to one during their childhood. They were on the cheaper side of the amusement park scale, great for a day out. ‘I’m here because my Dad refused to give me any more input into his business unless I started making an effort to date. He seems to believe that a woman won’t be good at running a company without a man by her side.’ A shadow crossed over her face. ‘The same rules don’t apply to my brother. I just hope whoever this man we’re competing for, he knows a thing or two about business. Otherwise I won’t even bother to pretend.’ Brienne, who was here for more or less the same reasons, assessed Yara Greyjoy. A little younger than Brienne, Yara didn’t even seem to have made an effort. She was dressed in jeans and a frayed black t-shirt. Her brown hair hung straight down her back, and there wasn’t a scrap of make up on her face.

Brienne hated make up and fancy clothes, but even she’d known that she needed to make some sort of effort. As she’d applied powder and foundation, she’d decided she liked it. Covering her face and her freckles made her feel as though she was acting. It wasn’t really her, Brienne Tarth appearing on this show. Brienne Tarth was pale. She had freckles. Her hair wasn’t perfectly coiled into 50’s curls, but rather hung straight down to her shoulders, showing very little life no matter what product she put into it. She wasn't this person she was pretending to be, and that made it a little easier. 

The next few women stood up and introduced themselves, and Brienne tried to keep them all straight; she usually had a good head for remembering names and faces and stories. In business you had to; those CEO’s of company’s you wanted to work with sometimes got in a right huff if you didn’t remember them. And they were usually all boring white men. This should be easier, but somehow the names and faces were all mixing together, and no matter how many details she tried to lodge in her brain, Brienne couldn’t keep track.

There was Ros, an older woman who was coy about what she did for a living, her breasts thrust so far out of her dress, Brienne worried she’d taken someone’s eye out; then Talisa and Pia introduced themselves, but Brienne couldn’t remember who was who after they’d both sat down or what they were known for; three women who stood up together, each of them in plain clothes, the youngest who stuttered when she spoke, the oldest who glared around the room at them all – their names were Osha, Roslin Fray who Brienne had heard of – her Dad was some aging rock star who had countless children, and had pissed away all his money years ago – and Gilly, the one Cersei had glared at earlier. Gilly’s skirt was creased in front, but the girl didn’t seem to notice.

There was Melisandre and Missandei which made Brienne’s head spin. Missandei, the bi racial girl had left her family’s training camp to come here. It was the first time she’d been away from home, and her hands shook as she spoke. Melisandre spoke with an accent Brienne couldn’t place, although she wasn’t focusing on her words; Melisandre wore a startling red dress and a necklace so dripping in rubies, Brienne thought it was probably the second most expensive thing in the room. She felt tired just looking at the heaviness of it.

The red-haired girl who had snorted earlier stood up, and Brienne wondered not for the first time who the man they’d be competing for was. There was a wide range of ages in this room. She knew everyone was over the age of 18 – they'd been promised that alcohol would be available – but some of these girls couldn’t be more than their early twenties. Brienne, at 28 felt like one of the older ones. She couldn’t image how people like Cersei and Melisandre and Selyse – a former model who after a nervous breakdown was trying to relaunch her career, even now her looks had faded to plainness -, people who were definitely on the other side of forty – were feeling.

‘My name’s Ygritte. I don’t really have any claim to fame, not like you others, although my Dad does run a successful beer company. Giantsbane.’ A few women nodded their head in recognition. It was a cheap beer, but probably the best cheap beer on the market. Brienne hadn’t drunk it since she’d turned twenty, but she fondly remembered getting drunk in parks with her school friends as a teenager. ‘But I’m not heir to his company, like. He’s currently looking for a bidder to take it off his hands. Wants to travel the world.’

‘Aren’t you upset?’ asked Roslin Fray. ‘If my father had something he could give to me, I’d be awfully upset if he sold it.’

‘Course not,’ Ygritte chuckled. ‘What do I want with a beer company? No, I’m not one for running a business, let alone something I’ve got no interest in.’ Brienne swallowed and looked down at the plush carpeting under her feet. This room was getting awfully warm.

She had to remind herself she wasn’t in the same position. It wasn’t like she had no interest in her father’s company. She would take over one day, and be happy about it. It was just...not where she wanted to be. Not right now, anyway. ‘Nah, I’ve got other plans. As soon as this shit is over, and my Dad’s got the money, he’s promised me some so I can follow my soulmate around the world.’ Ygritte’s brown eyes lit up, and there was a murmur around the room.

‘Sorry,’ Missandei said, leaning forward in her seat, ‘but you have someone at home who you love, and yet you’ve come here? Why would you do that? If you really loved the person, wouldn’t you have pushed against your families wishes a little harder?’

‘No way!’ Ygritte said. ‘For one my father didn’t push me into this. He told me that getting a little bit of experience of the world would be a good idea, although I don’t think this is what he had in mind.’ She chuckled again, then noticed the blank faces staring at her. ‘Look, I’m here for exposure, just like I’m sure most of you are. I’m not silly. I don’t really think I’m going to be the one person out of twenty to win this thing.’ Her eyes lingered on Melisandre’s necklace, on Cersei’s fine gown. ‘And judging by the obvious wealth in this room, I’m not really the target woman they want to end up with the man we’re supposed to be competing for anyway. No, I’m here for one reason, and that’s to get word to Jon Snow that I love him, and I’m his number one fan.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said a quiet voice from the back of the room, as someone emerged from behind the sofa Brienne was sitting on. Brienne watched as the faces around her rippled with confusion. She knew this was coming. ‘Did you say you want to tell Jon Snow that you love him?’

‘I did,’ Ygritte said. ‘You know of him then?’

‘Doesn’t everyone know Jon Snow?’ said a delicate voice from a woman lounging on the sofa pushed up against the back wall. ‘Didn’t his latest album get to number one in 23 countries, and his most popular single 'I know nothing' stay at number one for something bizarre, like 13 weeks?’

‘It did,’ Ygritte said, eyeing up the woman. She turned back to the person behind Brienne. ‘I’ve been trying to get his attention since he first came onto the scene, but I never seem to manage it. Coming on here, and literally shouting it seemed the only option left to me.’ She shrugged, like declaring her love for a famous singer wasn’t a totally weird thing to announce to a group of people you’d only just met.

Brienne didn’t think Ygritte was mad. But there was a steel in her eyes, that told Brienne that what she said was true; she loved Jon Snow. She believed they were soul mates.

‘But why do you love him?’ Brienne turned her head then to look at yet another red-haired woman. How many did that make? Four. And red heads were supposed to only represent 2% of the population.

Although Brienne thought Melisandre probably dyed hers. No one was born with that colour hair. ‘Jon Snow is the most annoying idiot on the planet.’

‘Don’t insult Jon Snow in front of me,’ Ygritte said, her eyes flashing. Brienne wondered briefly if she should run and get the cameras in here. Surely this was the kind of drama Mr. Baelish was looking for. And this was before the show had officially started.

‘You just said you’ve never met him!’ The red-head behind Brienne declared. ‘But I’ve had to put up with him my entire life, and if he wasn’t insufferable before his music blew up, then he certainly is now! His song is his ring tone for god’s sake. I hear it on the radio practically every day, do I really need to hear it at family dinners too?’

‘You’re related to Jon Snow? The Jon Snow? ‘I know nothing?’ Jon Snow?’ Ygritte said. The blonde woman who’d spoken before stirred a little in her seat.

‘He’s my cousin.’ Ygritte’s mouth dropped open.

‘There’s not a lot written about his family online,’ Ygritte said. ‘How do I know you’re not lying to me?’

‘My name is Sansa Stark,’ said the red-haired, and another ripple went around the room. Cersei moved, looking like she was having her feathers ruffled as she stared at the red head. Brienne felt the first stirrings of protectiveness inside her, and readied herself to stand. ‘And the reason there’s not much written about his family is because Jon has some family issues. He's spent most of his time with my family.’

‘You’re a Stark?’ Cersei said, the name dripping with something Brienne didn’t like the sound of. ‘One of the high-born Starks?’

‘My father is Lord Ned Stark,’ Sansa said. A fission went around the room. Everyone knew that Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon had been best friends before Ned cut ties with Robert just before the stories started appearing.

‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’ Cersei said. ‘I remember you when you were a baby. My husband used to make me visit that dreadful place you call home all the time. An ugly little thing you were,’ Cersei said. Her gaze landed on Brienne. ‘Such a shame some people never grow out of that stage.’

Brienne didn’t flinch. Part of growing up with her looks meant having a thick skin. If she let every insult she had hurled at her leave it’s mark, she’d be covered in scars and bruises that would never heal. That would re-open every time she looked in a mirror.

Anyway. She didn’t need to look pretty to do what she wanted to do. She just needed her brain, and her muscles. And those she had.

‘I still don’t believe you,’ Ygritte said. ‘If Jon Snow were related to the Starks, don’t you think that would be known? We know practically everything else about him.’

‘Well he is.’ Brienne felt a soft hand on her shoulder. ‘Brienne, tell her, it’s true. You’ve seen Jon at ours plenty of times.’

Brienne closed her eyes for a moment. She’d hoped someone would have been in by now to take them away one by one, so that when her turn finally came, she wouldn’t have as much attention on her. She could feel her blush blossoming on her cheeks already as all eyes turned to her.

‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘Jon Snow is Sansa’s cousin. I’ve met him at the Stark house several times.’ She cleared her throat, as Ygritte sat down grumpily, arms folded across her chest, although she was flicking wondering glances to Sansa every few seconds. You could almost see the cogs turning in her brain, as she tried to work this new information into her plan.

‘And who exactly are you?’ Cersei said. ‘I’d assumed you were someone they’d picked off the street after a last-minute cancellation, or the joke contestant. But if you know the Starks...’ her words trailed off.

Brienne stood slowly, letting her whole frame fold out. She was taller than any other woman in this room, she knew. And broader.

‘My name is Brienne Tarth,’ she said. ‘My Dad owes a successful company.’ She prayed that would be enough. She didn’t feel like getting into all of that now. Her eyes swept the room, looking for the smallest upturn of a lip. Margaery Tyrell was smiling softly at her, and Brienne felt a squirm of discomfort. Margaery and Sansa were the only ones in this room who knew who her father was. She knew Sansa would never let it slip – they'd been friends for years, even though the Stark girl was almost five years younger – but there was no telling what Margaery would say.

‘Well, it might not be successful for long after the people see you’re what he produced,’ Cersei said, her words coated in honey.

There was no response to that. The room settled into an uneasy silence, until a slightly older woman leaned forward from her seat.

‘Have we covered all those on that side of the room, or are we still going? I count five of us still to introduce ourselves.’

‘Of course,’ Margaery said, relief coursing through her words. Brienne sat down, curling her hand into a fist to stop it from shaking. Sansa’s hand was still on her shoulder and she felt her friend give her a squeeze. With a lot of effort, Brienne turned to the woman now speaking, and the four remaining women.

‘I’m Ellaria Sand,’ the woman said, her accent calming, helping to soothe Brienne’s nerves. She could swear she’d heard it somewhere before. ‘I’m the number one voice over artist in the world and I’m doing this to show my lover back home what he’s missing. We’re in a terrible fight at the moment, but I fully expect him to storm the house and take me back. I won’t accept anything less.’ She smiled a flirty smile around the room. ‘Although I am looking forward to getting to know some of you a little bit more,’ she said, her eyes stopping on several of the women. Brienne was surprised to see Ellaria’s gaze stop on her for a moment.

Shae and Myranda went next, and Brienne was still so jumbled up that she missed their stories. It was only as Jeyne was explaining what she did for a living – another whose father owned a successful company – that Brienne felt her breathing go back to normal.

Enough that she could focus on the last woman anyway. The woman who’d spoken about Jon Snow’s accomplishments, stretched as she stood up, letting everyone get a good look at her small, but perfectly formed body. She stared around her, meeting everyone’s gazes and Brienne was shocked to see that her eyes were a violet colour. She’d thought that eye colour was made up, something male authors gave their female character to make them seem interesting.

The bright lights shone down on her, making her hair glow silver, and although Brienne knew it was impossible, she almost believed that this woman had planned this moment. She’d planned to go last, just for this. So that everyone’s attention would be on her.

‘My name is Daenerys Drogo. And that’s everything you need to know about me.’ Daenerys smiled around at them all again, before sitting back on the sofa, her gaze on the carpet.

A few of the women met the gazes of the others. They couldn’t demand she revel anything more. Brienne herself hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with information, but there was something about the violet eyed woman that made her shiver. She’d never heard of anyone named Drogo.

But if she was here, she had to have something to offer. She wouldn’t have been approached otherwise.

There was no time to dwell on the matter however; a second later the door opened, and a short pudgy man came through, talking into a headset, a pile of papers in his hands.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said covering his mouthpiece with a hand and sweeping his gaze around the room. Brienne felt a little sorry for him as his face turned pink; being caught in the gaze of twenty women would be startling for anyone. ‘Can I get the first of you to come with me please? We’re ready to start filming.’ He blinked at them as no one moved. ‘Did no one tell you who was going first?’ Everyone shook their head. ‘I don’t suppose anyone wants to volunteer, do they?’ he asked.

‘I’ll do it,’ Cersei said, twirling a golden curl around her finger and releasing it so it sprung back into place, falling to her waist. ‘It’d be a shame not to be seen, and I assume after the public see some of these women, they’ll turn off in their droves.’ She strode from the room, the man looking after her, his mouth hanging open. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if I can find someone to get a list to you, see what order you’re needed in. I...’ he seemed to want to say something more, but hurried off after a moment, muttering something about how Cersei was going the wrong way.

Once the doors had shut, it seemed like something dark had been swept out with them. A soft chattering broke out between the women. Brienne settled back into her seat, letting it wash over her, and tuning into the conversation behind her. Margaery had come over to greet Sansa – the two knew each other – and Yara Greyjoy had joined them.

‘Well, she seems like she’s going to be fun to live with,’ Yara said. ‘I knew this was going to bad, but I didn’t think I’d rather poke my eyes out with a rusty spoon on the first evening.’ Brienne let a small smile play around her lips. It made her glad, that she wasn’t the only one who would rather be anywhere else.

‘Cersei’s bark is worse than her bite,’ Margery said. Then she huffed a sigh. ‘Which I mean literally. I’d forgotten all about that stupid little dog of hers, but no doubt it’ll be making an appearance soon. She never goes anywhere without it. I’m surprised she didn’t have it with her tonight, but I supposed dog hair would have showed up terribly on her dress.’

‘Speaking of dresses,’ Yara said, ‘Sansa. I don’t do dresses – well, you can probably tell that. But I have to say, I do love yours. It’s a Sapphire, isn’t it?’ She sighed, a wistful sound. ‘Theirs are the only designs I can even stomach to look at, to tell you the truth. But my father would never let me spend that much on one item of clothing, or a handbag.’ There was a pause. ‘I’m not sure I could stomach to spend that much on one single item either. But still. To see one up close...I never thought I’d get the chance.’

‘Thank you,’ Sansa said. ‘I love the Sapphire line too. They’re my favourite.’ A body plopped down on the sofa arm, next to Brienne, a cloying scent of roses filling her nose.

‘Margery,’ she said, turning to the woman who had settled next to her. ‘You didn’t tell me you were going to do this.’

‘You didn’t tell me either,’ Margery said, arching one perfect eyebrow. Brienne hummed her reply. She hadn’t told anyone that she was going to be on the show. She didn’t want to hear their laughter.

Brienne Tarth going on a dating show. Whatever next?

‘I have to say,’ Margery said, leaning closer so she could whisper in Brienne’s ear. ‘I knew Petyr Baelish was after fireworks and drama, but even I didn’t think he’d go this far.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Brienne asked frowning. Sure, there were a mix of women, some she wouldn’t trust as far as she could throw them – but wasn’t that to be expected?

‘Grandmother told me this morning who the suitor is,’ Margery said. She leaned back to look at Brienne’s face. ‘Didn’t you father tell you? I presumed he would have.’

‘I doubt my father would even have bothered to try and find out,’ Brienne said truthfully. Her father had asked her to do the show, after he’d received a phone call. He’d given her several reasons why it would be the best opportunity for her, and she’d eventually given in.

But once she’d agreed, Selwyn Tarth had lost interest. He was nothing like Margery’s Grandmother, an old woman who had to, and had ways to find out everything.

‘Well,’ Margaery said, standing up again, as the double doors opened and her name was called, ‘You'll find out soon enough.’ Her brown eyes traveled to rest on Sansa Stark, a small frown on her face. ‘We all will.’


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime Lannister was going to die. Actually no, he amended. He was going to kill. His father first, for talking him into this mess. And then...but he couldn’t even think the thought. He’d never kill anyone. 

Not again. 

‘I can see your brain coming up with a million ways to get out of this already,’ said his brother, Tyrion. Jaime turned to face him, watching the lights on the streets outside flash across his brother’s squashed face, turning him into a grotesque version of himself. 

‘Am I really that obvious?’ Jaime asked. His left hand twitched on his leg, and he frowned at it. If there was one thing he didn’t miss about his right hand it was that it could no longer shake and betray his nerves. Or curl up into a fist when he got angry. 

Instead it just lay there, fingers slightly curled so he could grip things. He’d had several prosthetic hands made for him over the years, but he’d finally settled on this one. Lugging a suitcase of fake hands around seemed a little much, even for him. 

‘Only to those that know you,’ Tyrion said. ‘Or anyone who can read a face.’ 

The cool seats of the car were perfect for Jaime to lean back into, even though he knew as soon as he left the car he’d be yelled at. He’d had to spend an hour in hair and make-up earlier, even though he knew people would be there to sort him once he arrived at the house he was supposed to be staying in for the next six weeks. It was all so stupid. And fake. 

‘Cheer up,’ Tyrion said. ‘Just imagine, right now there are twenty, beautiful women all hoping to get a chance to marry you at the end of this.’ He lifted a brown folder on his lap and lowered his voice although Jaime would bet their driver wasn’t listening to a word they were saying. ‘Once you’ve been filmed arriving at the house, maybe unpacking a little, speaking about how you feel excited about the next six weeks and hopeful you’ll end up with your soulmate, we’ll get you back to the hotel and crack this open.’ Jaime eyed the folder nervously. Ridiculous, he told himself. There was nothing to be nervous about. 

‘Are you sure nobody will find out?’ Jaime asked. ‘I told you I don’t see the point of knowing who all the women are.’ 

‘Well, of course there’s no point in knowing,’ Tyrion said, although the disapproval that appeared whenever they got anywhere close to discussing her was badly veiled, ‘but it’s all for fun isn’t it? And what’s the point of keeping you in the dark? Me and Bronn and The Hound want to be able to discuss it around you. What fun will it be if you can’t join in?’ 

The car slowed down, and quick as a flash the folder had disappeared into a bag Tyrion was carrying. Jaime shook his head, his crown of blond hair falling into his eyes. He preferred to keep it a little on the long side, although he knew the girl who’d worked on him earlier had been desperate to cut it. 

But ever since the night where he’d lost his hand, four years ago, Jaime seemed to have no say in any aspect of his life anymore. If the only thing he got to decide for himself was how long his hair was, then he was damn well going to keep it that way. 

‘Game face on, brother,’ Tyrion said. He hopped from the car, making his way to their father who stood on the side of the driveway they’d pulled up on. Jaime made to get out, but was pushed back in, as the car went around again and pulled up. He was to be the only one filmed getting out of the car. They wanted the money shot, of him emerging, all 6ft 2 of him, shaking his golden mane. 

Well, he’d promised his father a show. He had to give them that, even if Jaime knew the whole thing was fake. It was better this way. This way he could have everything he’d ever wanted. Maybe even his father’s approval back. 

Tywin Lannister wasn’t what you’d call a good father. He loved his sons, as much as he could, Jaime supposed. But neither of them were the perfect specimens he’d pictured for himself. Jaime, who looked like he should be the handsome, charming, heir to the multi million-pound Lannister company had difficulty with reading and numbers. Shareholders meeting bored him to tears, as did kissing the arses of the men Tywin most wanted to do business with. 

Tyrion had been handed the brain, of course. Jaime's younger brother would be much better suited to running the company when their dear old dad passed. 

But Tyrion was a dwarf, and Tywin had only recently even let his son come into the main Lannister building, and introduced him to his contacts. Sometimes Jaime thought his father wished he could import Tyrion’s brain into Jaime’s body. Then he’d have the perfect son, someone to be proud of. 

For the next hour Jaime smiled for the cameras following him through the home he was supposed to be holed up in for the next six weeks. There was a small TV hanging on the wall in the small living room, which he was supposed to receive messages on. A phone from the olden days, in that it still had a cord attached to it was hanging on the wall in case he needed to contact a member of the production company. There was a small bathroom, and two small bedrooms upstairs where a couple of the five chosen Friends and Family members he’d had to choose could come and stay if they wished. 

That would have been amusing, Jaime thought, feeling only a pang of regret about his plans to spend as little time as possible here. Making Tyrion, and Bronn and the Hound share a room for a couple of days. 

He knew Petyr Baelish was looking for drama. Those three sharing a room could probably provide a whole day’s worth of entertainment all on its own. 

When the cameras finally left for the day – although Jaime had noticed the seven in the living room blinking away at him from the furthest corners so they could catch his every expression – he collapsed onto the sofa, throwing an arm over his face and groaning. 

‘You act like you’re dying,’ said his father as he came into the room. Him and Tyrion had had to stay outside while they filmed Jaime inside. Jaime imagined that had been a fun hour. Tywin could barely spend ten minutes in his youngest son’s presence before losing his temper. 

‘If I was dead, at least I wouldn’t have to go through with this,’ Jaime said, but he sat up so he could look his father in the eye. Powder had clung to the arm of his black shirt, and he frowned at it. 

‘You could do a lot worse,’ Tywin said. ‘This house had everything you could ever want. Alright, it’s not the biggest – you could fit your entire room in here – but I’ve been assured you will want for nothing.' 

Jaime turned his frown to his father. He knew his dad didn’t know the full extent of their reach into the show, but even he should know that Jaime would be staying here only when filming required it. There was a fancy hotel down the road where Jaime would be spending his nights. The staff had signed contracts that said they’d be sued for everything they had if they mentioned his coming and going, and a backdoor was being specially left open so he could pass in and out as he pleased. 

‘Of course, father,’ Jaime said instead. There was no point arguing. And his father had the enraging habit of pretending that he didn’t know things he’d been told. Jaime was never sure if it was because his father considered those details so unimportant, he just let them slip away, or so that he could act enraged again and again. 

‘I’m doing for your own good, you know,’ Tywin said. The dying afternoon light shone through the window he was standing in front of, picking out all the deep lines on his face, the age spot on his hands, the sheen on the coat he’d worn for years on important days. Jaime knew his father had his home staffed with people who did everything for him, but he wondered if anyone was actually taking care of his father. There were maids to lay the food for him, but no one to check he was eating it. ‘After the scandal you caused four years ago, we were very lucky this came along when it did. Now you get to relaunch yourself back into the limelight. And might even find a wife who will support you at the end of it.’ Jaime threw a smile his father’s way, but it dropped quickly. 

He knew that was eighty percent Tywin’s reason for making him do this. He wanted to erase the murder – sorry manslaughter – charge Jaime had to his name from the public’s mind. Shove something else down their throats to associate with Jaime Lannister. It was easily done, Jaime knew. There were several house hold names that had murky secrets lurking in their past, that rarely got mentioned when they were written about. 

Jaime just wasn’t sure his crimes would ever be forgiven. 

But as a bonus, Tywin thought he’d finally put a stop to his other problem with Jaime. That marrying him off to some random woman would finally make Jaime forget about his love. 

Jaime did not want to be around when Tywin realised what they’d done. What they’d all been planning since Jaime realised his father was going to make him go through with this stupid show. 

‘Have you seen the women?’ Jaime asked now. 

‘I handpicked most of them myself,’ Tywin said, his chest puffing out a little. ‘I believe they left five spots open to fill themselves, but I trust Petyr. He’s an old friend. He wouldn’t let me down.’ 

Jaime was glad he wouldn’t be a fly on that wall. ‘I’ll watch the show when it goes out on Saturday,’ Tywin said. ‘You know I’d like to be here for more of it, but I still have a job to do. A company can’t run itself.’ 

Jaime snorted at that. Ah, yes, that old line. The one that explained why Tywin couldn’t come to sports days, or pick him up from school when he fell ill, or read him a bedtime story. The company came first. 

‘You’ll be back for some of it, of course,’ Jaime said. One of the themes of this show was that the suitor had chosen five people closest to them who would get to know the contestants on their behalf. One of the eliminations was the five friends and family booting of the woman they thought the suitor wasn’t suited for. 

A spasm shot through Jaime at that. He hadn’t thought of that hurdle. Tywin could use his right as one of his F&F to get rid of... 

But no. Tyrion had assured Jaime that they had a plan for everything to work out. And his brother would have realised about the F&F elimination. 

‘Yes,’ Tywin said. He took one last look around the room – a bright airy space, that under any other circumstances Jaime would probably think was charming, then clapped his eldest on his shoulder once. ‘I know you don’t believe me son, but this will be the making of you. Mark my words.’ With that, he left the room, nodding a goodbye to Tyrion as he slunk into the room. 

When the front door had shut, Tyrion turned to his brother. 

‘Well, are you ready to get out of here?’ he said. ‘Petyr has given the go ahead. We’re free to go for the evening, although you'll be back soon enough to set the first task.’ 

Jaime groaned. Part of this show involved the suitor coming up with tasks the contestants had to take part in. Jaime barely had any hobbies. Coming up with ideas had taken the best part of two days, and every bit of imagination he had, which wasn’t saying much. ‘There’ll be drink at the hotel,’ Tyrion said. 

‘Then let’s go,’ Jaime said, standing up and following his brother from the room. 

* 

‘About fucking time,’ Bronn Blackwater greeted them as they entered Jaime’s hotel suite. He was sitting at a desk pushed up against the far wall, the surface covered in tablets and computer monitors, all of them blinking at him. ‘We’ve been here hours.’ 

‘So sorry to keep you waiting,’ Tyrion said. He climbed onto the floral sofa, settling himself in for the night, and dislodging the man next to him who grunted and moved to the other side. ‘I know you have several pressing and important matters to attend to.’ 

Bronn held his hands up and spun back to his screens. 

Jaime, taking the armchair opposite his brother, looked around the room for the drink Tyrion had promised. He was going to be spending a lot of time with these men over the next six weeks. 

A boy entered the room they were all sitting in, and Jaime eyed him curiously. 

‘Jaime,’ said Tyrion, ‘this is Podrick Payne, my assistant. And for the next six weeks, yours too. Well, at least that’s what we’re telling the public anyway.’ Tyrion shook his head. ‘Honestly, it still amuses me that we couldn’t find five people who could pose as your friends. I almost feel quite special that you’ve had to pinch mine.’ 

Jaime shot him a dark look, but said nothing. You couldn’t pick a fight over the truth. And the truth was that Jaime did not have friends. He had his brother. 

And that was all. 

Podrick – or Pod as Tyrion called him – had been his brother’s assistant for the past two years. Tyrion always sung the boy’s praise and it seemed natural to offer him a sum of money to pose as Jaime’s friend for six weeks. No one could prove any different. They worked in the same building, and so what that they’d never been seen in the same room before. The only people who knew that, were the ones who worked for the Lannister company, and none of them would say anything. Not if they wished to keep their jobs. 

Bronn Blackwater, was also Tyrion’s friend. They’d been firm friends since high school, and Bronn had certainly come in handy for their purposes this time. One of the best hackers Jaime had ever known, he was their secret weapon to make sure Jaime got what he wanted out of this. Without him, they’d be screwed, and he knew it. 

Not that they weren’t paying him handsomely to be at their beck and call at all hours. To check the public votes and adjust them if necessary. And Jaime had a sneaking suspicion it would be necessary. 

The last of his five friends and family – including his brother and father of course – was another of Tyrion’s friends. The Hound as he was known to everybody – and Jaime didn’t even remember what his real name was – had been Tyrion’s bodyguard for as long as he’d needed one. The one thing Tyrion pointed to when asked why he was so sure his father didn’t completely detest him, even though he acted like it. 

‘He wouldn’t have hired a bodyguard to make sure I was protected if he didn’t care about me,’ Tyrion would tell anyone who would ask. ‘Or at least he thinks it’s cheaper than any ransom he’d have to pay.’ 

The Hound, having been dislodged by Tyrion hopping onto the sofa, was currently glaring at them all. His black eyes made Jaime look away. A man of little words, his face was horribly scarred from age old burns. 

Jaime had never asked for the story. He wasn’t planning to either. 

‘Are we all ready to see the girls?’ Tyrion said, pulling the brown folder from his bag. ‘I promise you, I haven’t looked at all, although I’ve been dying to.’ 

Jaime nodded and leaned forward, trying to display the correct amount of enthusiasm. He didn’t care. What was the point? 19 of these women were wasting up to six weeks of their lives, for a lie. 

They had no chance with him. No chance at winning his hand, no matter what they did. 

He didn’t think he managed to pull his enthusiasm off, not if Tyrion’s eye roll and muttered ‘well, I’m excited’ was anything to go by. The other men moved around the coffee table in the middle of the room, Bronn rubbing his hands together. Even though he was able to hack into the camera’s and see the girls as they’d arrived earlier at the house they’d be spending the next few weeks in, he’d promised he hadn’t looked either. 

Jaime almost believed him. 

Carefully, Tyrion pulled a sheaf of papers out of the folder, lying them down on the table so they could only see the top one. A pretty girl with silver hair and violet eyes stared out of the photo stapled on the typed sheet underneath, and Jaime ran an eye over the information provided. Daenerys Drogo. Something about her eyes made him feel unsettled, and he skittered his gaze elsewhere instead. 

‘Very pretty,’ Bronn remarked. 

They turned the sheets over one by one, most of the women having comments made about them. Jaime wondered what they were up to on their first night. They wouldn’t find out he was this year’s suitor until tomorrow morning. 

What would they think? he wondered. Not that it mattered. 

A few of the women stood out, although not all of them for the right reasons – Yara Greyjoy made Jaime roll his eyes. Her Dad was a dick and Jaime hated that he wanted to do business with the Lannister company. There was Ros, an older woman who Tyrion informed them was a plant among the women, picked by Petyr Baelish himself so he’d always have information, and a woman so ugly Jaime couldn’t focus on anything else about her. Her hair was straw-like, her nose had been broken at least once before, and her facial features seemed too big for her face. Her eyes were half closed in the photo, just a silver of blue peeking out from under the lids. 

Pod made a squeak when he saw the photo, but refused to say anything more, just turned the page onto the next girl. 

All the previous contestants vanished. 

‘Shit,’ said Tyrion. ‘How did she make the cut?’ Staring out at them was Sansa Stark, her red hair plaited in braids as she smiled out of the glossy photo. Bronn let out a low whistle. 

‘What do you think her Daddy’s going to have to say about this tomorrow when she sees who she’s competing for?’ he asked. 

‘I think she’ll be in the first car out of there,’ Jaime said, ignoring the clenching in his gut. What his family had done to the Starks had been years ago. Nobody even spoke about it anymore. And, anyway, it had been all his father’s doing. 

Well, Jaime had gone to meetings and signed papers to buy the Stark company from out under them, persuading their shareholders to sell their shares to him, and when the Lannister company had what they wanted, they sold it for parts, celebrating their profit. 

But, really, who would still be mad about that? The company had been sinking, and it was a good thing they put it out of its misery. The Starks would have gone bankrupt trying to save it. 

Still, Sansa being in this contest had to be some sort of sick joke. ‘Let’s see the next one,’ he said, flipping the page over so quickly, the other papers ruffled. 

He couldn’t concentrate after that. None of the others made any impression on him. He dimly recognised a few more faces – Margaery Tyrell and Ellaria Sand – but none of the information stuck in his mind. 

Tyrion was getting ready to turn the last page over, when a knock at the door sounded. They all looked at it, until the Hound heaved himself up to answer. The papers disappeared, and Bronn hurried to pull a sheet over his computers. 

They weren’t doing anything wrong. Petyr knew about Jaime staying in the hotel, and he’d be stupid if he hadn’t realised that Jaime would know everything about the contestants. The only thing he wasn’t aware of was how far they were willing to go to make sure the correct person won. If it ever got found out they were planning on fixing the vote, Littlefinger productions would be fined millions of pounds, and have to pay everyone back. 

‘I don’t do waiting,’ said an angry voice at the door. Tyrion raised an eyebrow and slinked down on the floor, gesturing for Pod and Bronn to follow him. Their rooms had a connecting door to Jaime’s and they went through, leaving a gap so the Hound could follow. 

‘Good luck,’ said Tyrion. ‘Please, tell our sweet cousin I said hello.’ Jaime flashed him a look, which his brother chose to ignore. 

There was no love lost between the cousins, but given the nature of Jaime's relationship with her, he more than made up for it. 

Bringing with her a whirl of angry energy that just seemed to follow her wherever she went, Cersei Baratheon swept into the room, and into Jaime's arms, kissing him on the mouth, before flopping in his arms dramatically. 

‘I swear Jaime, it’s been one day, and I already want to kill all of the other girls. I don’t know who that Margaery Tyrell thinks she is, but if she keeps it up, she’s going to be first on my list, I swear it.’ 

Jaime held her in his arms, running his left hand down her hair, while his right one cradled her waist. She hated to be touched with the fake one, shuddering if it accidentally made contact with her skin. 

‘It’s only six weeks,’ Jaime muttered into her hair. She was the reason he was doing this. When Tywin had first come to him, telling him of his plans to make him the suitor on this season of The One, Jaime had almost bust a gut laughing. What did he need a wife for? He had loved Cersei Baratheon for all his life, when she was Cersei Lannister, a distant cousin. They’d grown up together, born just a few months apart. 

They were soul mates. The same person split into two, she always said. Watching her marry Robert, after his father had arranged the match, had been the second most heart-breaking moment in Jaime’s life, only losing his hand topping it. 

But when he’d put the idea to Cersei, a shrewd look had come into her eyes. She whispered plans to him. About how if the public made it so, his father could not object the match. If she won, if they married on TV, there would be nothing Tywin could do about it. 

Plans had been made, down to the very last details. How to sneak her into the pool of contestants without Tywin getting word of it and forcing her out. How’d they’d make sure she’d win. 

It had taken some persuasion to get Tyrion on board, but Jaime knew they’d need him if they wanted this to work. But Jaime knew his brother wanted him happy, and he swore to him that being with Cersei made him so. The smell of her, the touch of her...it was all he’d ever known, and all he ever wanted to. 

There was nothing else and nobody in this world for him. 

In six weeks, they’d be married, and there was nothing anybody could do, to stop it from happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. There will be Jaime / Cersei in this. 
> 
> Also I made them cousins because making them sibling just literally would never work in this story, and also gross. 
> 
> Hope you're enjoying so far!


	3. Chapter 3

Brienne was sweating. She could feel the beads forming on her head, one travelling slowly down her temple. She glanced around, seeing if any of the other women were watching – they weren’t - and wiped her head with her sleeve. As a regular gym goer Brienne knew what she looked like when she sweated. She wasn’t one of those people who got the healthy ‘glow’ about them. Those people, Brienne was convinced, were secretly magic. How did they manage to sweat in perfect proportion, so that their whole face was just a shiny circle? Brienne’s cheeks went red, and her forehead went clammy, but the rest of her face stayed as pale as usual, her nose and chin drawing more attention to them than Brienne ever wanted them to. 

Slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, Brienne inched her arms out of the leather jacket she was wearing. The style team had insisted she wear it. She wasn’t even sure why there was a style team on The One. Wasn’t the whole point to show yourself to the nation as you were? Why did they need people to tell you what you looked good in? 

The people assigned to Brienne had told her that she should wear blue more often. It would help to ‘bring out her eyes’, which having been told countless times over her life, Brienne knew to be the most flattering thing about her. They were big, it was true. And they were an interesting shade of blue. 

But blue clothes was so boring. Brienne knew that blue eyes were brought out by browns and gold, and that if she really wanted to make her eyes pop, dark purple was the way to go. And she didn’t agree that the look she wanted to present to the nation was the ‘tough biker chick’ look they'd given her. Ripped jeans, leather jackets, and big black biker boots that Brienne was ignoring every time she opened the cupboard in the small room she was currently living in. 

Just because she had a bike, didn’t mean she wanted to shout about it. Her mode of transportation didn’t define her, and neither did the fact that she kept her hair short because it was easy to keep up with. Not that you’d know that from the hair people that worked on the show. They'd been muttering about extensions before Brienne had silenced them with a look. Her hair was her hair and she was going to keep it as it was. Nothing that happened over these six weeks would change her life. She'd promised herself that. 

‘Aren’t you excited?’ Brienne startled a little as a body sat next to her on the sofa. One of the women – Ros, Brienne remembered – had her face so close to Brienne’s, she could make out every one of the fine hairs on Ros's face. ‘A few more minutes and we’ll finally get to see who we’re all here for!’ She spoke with such enthusiasm that Brienne knew she was acting. There was no need to over pronounce every word, or flutter your eyelashes every two seconds. 

‘Of course,’ Brienne said, swallowing down the ‘not really’ that had been building up. She ducked her head as Sansa caught her eye, before the other girl could give her a knowing look. ‘Who wouldn’t be?’ 

‘Nobody seems to be very excited,’ said Ros, looking around the room. The women had broken into small groups, a gentle murmur of voices, no one conversation standing out above the rest. There were back in the same room as the previous night, a kind of foyer or 'waiting room' as the producers were calling it. Today there were less ball gowns, everyone opting for more causal clothes this morning. 

Except Cersei. Her red velvet dress had a floor length skirt, and a cleavage that plunged so deep, Brienne was afraid someone would get lost. When the man who’d called them all last night – Sam Tarly – had seen them all this morning, he’d blushed and dropped his notes. 

‘I’m sure everyone’s just nervous,’ Brienne said. A couple of the girls were shaking a little, a few of them biting their nails and not meeting anyone’s eye. ‘It’s a big moment.’ 

‘You could say the biggest,’ Ros said. ‘Who do you think it is? I mean, with us women being who we are, it’s got to be someone worth our attention, right?’ 

‘Maybe,’ said Brienne. She had thought that, last night when she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d tripped when she’d first walked onto the carpet to meet the host of the show – Varys – and give her introduction video. Hopefully the candles that had been lit to provide light had hidden her blushes, but she’d been nervous the rest of the two minutes, stammering a little. They’d told everyone before that there would be no time to redo these parts, since they had so many to get through. The whole 120 seconds had replayed itself in her mind all night. What a great first impression she'd made. ‘But wouldn’t it be interesting if they had someone ordinary? It would show that you don’t need to part of the same world to get on. And I’ll bet the tasks they set us would be something hardly any of us had done before. That would make for great television.’ 

Margaery gave a delicate snort to her right, and Brienne turned to look at her. She would swear the girl had just appeared out of thin air. 

‘This is Petyr Baelish we’re talking about. If he’s tracked us all down and made us part of his show, then this year’s suitor is going to better than everyone here. Nobody would bother to compete for an ordinary guy. What would be the point? So you could earn more money than him and give him half when the divorce comes through?’ 

Margaery had drawn everybody’s attention now, and she shifted a little in her seat. Brienne could see they’d gone the ‘princess fairy’ route with her. Her tea dress was dotted with little rose heads, and her hair was done in plaits that criss-crossed over the top of her head. Brienne felt like she should be hosting a garden party, not competing in a dating contest. 

‘You really believe that we’re competing for someone we’ll all think is worth it?’ Ygritte asked. 

‘I think,’ Margaery said, coy smile playing around her lips, ‘that we will provide some excellent TV when we find out who the suitor is.’ 

Brienne remembered that Margaery knew who the suitor was. She was whipping everyone into a frenzy. You could practically see film stars and all sorts behind every person’s eyes. 

It did sound like something Mr Baelish would do. Find some extraordinary man for them to compete for. He had to know that half the women in this room were only here for exposure, or because their families had forced them into it. Why not give them something they actually wanted to win? There would be no drama if the women didn't want to win the prize. They needed something to fight for. 

Great. If Brienne had thought this was a bad idea before, the nerves were coming back ten-fold now. The guy was bound to be handsome, but even Margaery had sounded impressed, and she was never impressed by anything. Which meant, far from just being in another universe to Brienne, this suitor would be in another galaxy. 

‘But -’ said someone, only to stop when the double doors opened and Sam poked his head in. They were going to have the big reveal in the garden. There would be twenty different cameras pointing at them, to make sure they got everyone’s reaction. 

‘It’s time,’ said Sam, pointing out of the door. He was trying to give them a reassuring smile as they filed past him, but since he wouldn’t meet any of their eyes it seemed a little distant. 

Brienne walked into the cool outside air, and realised she’d left her jacket on the sofa. Oh well. It hadn’t really gone with the white blouse and black jeans she’d chosen to wear today anyway. They’d let her bring some items from home, and damn them all if they thought she wasn’t going to wear them. She wanted to be herself, not some dress up doll. 

She kept her head down as she took her place in the semi-circle the girls had formed. This would be the circle they’d stand in on Saturday nights, as their eliminations from the competition were filmed live, tacked onto the last five minutes of each show. Brienne was in the middle, between Cersei and Melisandre. Neither were as tall as her, but Brienne was thankful they hadn’t made her stand next to one of the girls who were on the shorter side. She already felt like an oaf, she didn’t need to feel like a giant each week too. 

‘You’ve got something on your arm,’ said Cersei, pointing a manicured nail at Brienne’s sleeve. Sure enough, a dirty brown streak shone there. 

‘Oh,’ said Brienne. ‘It must be make-up.’ 

Shit. She would get in trouble for that. Not to mention she’d wiped her make-up off. Would there be a telling line on her forehead, an extra shiny, sweaty patch that would show up on HD televisions all around the nation? 

‘Well,’ Cersei said, adjusting her chest, and painting a fake smile on her face, ‘you didn’t have to make it so obvious you weren’t a serious competitor, but you could have tried a little harder.’ 

Brienne felt her face burn, but faced the giant screen in front of them. People were shouting things out around her, and she knew any moment now the screen would light up and show them the suitor. She needed to concentrate. 

There was a rushing in her ears, and the other sounds became background noise. Her hands curled into fists at her side. She wasn’t going to punch Cersei – she wasn’t that violent a person – but the anger and humiliation she’d felt her whole life was pulsing through her. 

Concentrate, she told herself. You need to pay attention. 

The screen lit up, and there, revealed in slow detail, flashed tiny little squares that flickered one at a time, creating the face of the first suitor on the UK’s version of The One. 

He was handsome, some part of Brienne’s brain whispered to her. You know him. You've met him before. Jaime Lannister. The name came to her, and a sick lurching in her gut made her aware of what this meant. Jaime Lannister. Tywin Lannister's son. 

But the heat bubbling inside her was claiming most of her attention. She knew she shouldn’t have come. It had been one day, and already Cersei had made comments about her looks. How would the audience at home react to her? She’d be the first one gone, and this whole stupid charade would be pointless. 

The guy on the screen was talking, but nothing was registering. Brienne turned her face away. She didn’t care. The guy was never going to be her husband – what did it matter what he sounded like, what his hobbies were? 

She looked around at the others. Someone in this group was going to marry him, and she guessed it would be nice to see their reaction. Even if they did end up divorcing. She’d read that only one couple from the US version were still married, and there had been seven seasons of that. 

Most of the women looked shocked as they stared at the screen. Yara was looking away in disgust and Daenerys was staring up at the screen in wonder. That was a good face to have when seeing your future husband for the first time. 

Brienne looked towards the end of the line. Cersei had a small smile playing around her face, but Brienne’s attention was caught by the two at the end. Margaery was standing still, her face blank. She had her arm around Sansa next to her. 

Sansa was crying. 

* 

‘What did he say?’ Brienne stood up as soon as Sansa entered her room. She could tell it wasn’t good news by the younger women’s hunched shoulders, and tear streaked face. 

‘He said I couldn’t leave,’ Sansa sobbed. ‘What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay here, I’ll be the laughing stock. It’ll look like I forgive him and his family for what they did to us. I can’t believe Mr Baelish would do this!’ She flung herself onto the narrow bed, face first, her legs coming to a rest on Yara who was sitting at the end. 

Margaery and Brienne shared a look. They both knew what the Lannister's had done to Sansa’s family company. Taken it over and sold it. Sansa had been on the phone to both of them for months, crying and confused about what to do. Her parents were both scared and confused, their entire lives work down the drain, and nothing to leave to their five children. 

‘Surely he can’t force you to stay?’ Brienne said. She took the floor by Sana’s head, Margaery sitting at her waist. Missandei was leaning against the wall next to Ygritte and Gilly. 

All the others had left for their own rooms after filming had been cut. Cersei had announced she had something important being delivered to her and slunk away to who knows where, but these six had followed Sansa to her room, where she’d broken down, and packed her small suitcase, saying she wasn’t going to stay another minute. She’d told everyone to wait there for her, while she went to talk to Mr Baelish, and that she’d be back soon to say goodbye. 

It hadn’t gone well. 

‘Except he can,’ Sansa said, misery lacing every word. She turned her head, her eyes red-rimmed as she stared at Brienne. ‘He said...’ she trailed off. 

‘What? Whatever he’s got on you, I’m sure Grandmother’s got more on him. One phone call, and I’ll have you out of here, I promise,’ Margaery said. 

Brienne ignored the dread that went through her. Margaery still had a phone, which was against the rules. Of course, she did. She was a Tyrell. They couldn’t go three hours without communicating with each other, let alone up to six weeks. 

‘You can’t,’ Sansa said. ‘If you do anything to him, he’ll know it’s because of me and he’ll retaliate.’ 

‘Well, what’s the worst that could happen?’ Yara asked. ‘I’ve heard the story about your parent’s company going under, and why. He can’t destroy that. He could make you look a little bad with the editing I suppose, but he’s only got about five minutes of footage of you total. If you left now, I’m sure some other drama will overshadow you leaving.’ 

‘You don’t understand,’ Sansa said. She sat up, and glared at each of the other girl’s in the room. ‘If I tell you, you have to promise that what you hear can never leave this room. Ever, okay? Ygritte, you have to promise.’ 

Ygritte, surprised at being singled out, held her hands up in protest. 

‘You don’t know me, but I’m not the type to tell tales. Whatever you say is safe with me.’ 

‘It’s about Jon,’ Sansa said. Ygritte’s brown eyes glowed brighter for a second, quickly covered by a careful blank expression. 

‘You have my word,’ Ygritte said, quickly followed by murmured agreements by Missandei, Gilly and Yara. 

Brienne already knew where this was going. She’d been introduced to the Stark family secret years ago. And Margaery obviously already knew. 

‘Mr Baelish has said that if I leave, walking out on my contract that says I’ll be available for filming for the next six weeks, no matter what happens in the contest, he’ll tell everyone who Jon’s parents are.’ 

‘But that’s all over the internet, already!’ Ygritte said. ‘His mum’s some ordinary woman. Anna Snow. And he doesn’t know his father. He left his mum before he was born.’ 

‘Or,’ Sansa said, her voice quiet. ‘His Mum’s Lyanna Stark, my Auntie who had an affair with a prince of a foreign country. A married prince. Who’s still married with grown up children. That’s why you never see his parents at his concerts, or as his guests at events. That’s why he basically grew up with us. Because no one can know, or it will cause some sort of incident, and Jon will get attention for all the wrong reasons. That's what I Know Nothing is about - when he found out who his father was. And Mr Baelish is threatening to tell the press if I don’t stay!’ 

‘How did he even find out?’ Margaery asked. ‘Nobody outside your family except Brienne knows and that’s only because she’s practically a Stark as well, since your mother used to babysit her.’ 

‘You know,’ Yara said. 

‘Grandmother knows everything,’ Margaery said. ‘And she tells me. It’s why I don’t even bother to have secrets any more. She used to know I’d do something before I’d even do it.’ 

‘Mr Baelish said that the other night, when I told Ygritte I was related to Jon Snow he put two and two together. Anna and Lyanna, it wasn’t hard was it? This is all my fault and now I’m stuck here, trying to compete for a man I’d rather kill than marry!’ 

She flopped back down on the bed again. 

‘Not necessarily,’ Brienne said, slowly. Everyone turned to look at her, and though she knew it was pointless she tried to control her blush. She had to get used to attention. 

‘I know you’d be willing to carry me out of here if I asked you to, but even you can’t get through Mr Baelish,’ Sansa said. 

‘I could knock him down,’ Brienne mused, liking the idea, but dismissing it. She didn’t need a police record and Mr Baelish would sue if anyone so much as laid a finger on him. ‘But I meant about the competing part. Yes, you’re in this contest, but it’s down to the public.’ She shrugged. ‘Show them that you’re not a good match. Fail at the tasks he sets us. Sigh into the camera whenever you’re asked about him with a blank stare. Show them you’re not here to compete. I doubt any amount of editing will be able to cover up your tears when you saw Mr Lannister. The public might let you through the first couple of weeks, just to see the drama, but I doubt they’d be cruel enough for you to win the thing.’ 

‘Is that what you’re doing?’ Yara asked. She sounded thoughtful, like she was taking in Brienne’s words. ‘I saw your face when they showed us Jaime. You weren’t even looking at the screen.’ 

Brienne shrugged. ‘I never claimed to be here to win. My father was approached by the ‘Littlefinger’ company, and he asked me to do this. To get my face out there.’ She pulled a face at that, but none of the other girls reacted. She’d always felt it was a shame she was to be the future face of her father’s company, but no one else seemed to see the funny side. ‘I agreed, but I never wanted to win. I’m not even expecting to get past the first week. And I want to win even less now. Who would want to be married to a murderer?’ 

‘He’s a murderer?’ Gilly gasped. Her hands flew to her skirt, scrunching it up, as everyone’s attention switched to her. ‘I thought his face looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember where from.’ 

‘He killed a man, and because of who he is his sentence got reduced to manslaughter, and then he got off on a self-defence charge,’ said Sansa. ‘It was all over the paper. Jaime was the Lannister heir. His father shoved him so far down everyone’s throats you couldn't be go a day without seeing his face in the press. Then he murdered Aerys Targaryen, King of the Club Scene, and after the trial, he disappeared. It’s no wonder he’s the suitor. How to get everyone talking about something else, and shove him back into the limelight.’ Sana’s disgust shone in every word. 

‘You do have to admire Tywin,’ Margaery said. ‘He knows what he’s doing.’ She stared back at everyone who looked at her. ‘He does.’ 

‘Does anyone here want to marry Jaime Lannister?’ Yara asked. She was met with a resounding silence. 

‘I’m sure some of the other women want to,’ Margaery said. ‘He was the golden man once upon a time. Nothing seemed to touch him. I expect there will be all the drama Petyr wants.’ 

After a few more minutes, the girls started to trickle from the room. All that remained were Brienne and Sansa. 

‘I should call my family,’ Sansa said. Brienne wondered if everybody had a phone stashed somewhere. Maybe she should get one. She’d only have to ask Margaery, she was sure. 

Not that she needed it. She’d be gone in the next few days. 

‘Tell your mum I said hi,’ Brienne said. Catelyn Stark was like a second mother to Brienne. The Starks and Brienne’s father had started their companies at the same time, and had grown into firm friends. ‘Tell them you have a plan, but that you won’t walk. All you need is your father and brother’s storming the house.’ 

‘Good idea,’ Sansa said. Brienne stood, placing a hand on Sansa’s shoulder. 

‘If you do need me to carry you away from here, you know I will,’ she said. Sansa smiled fondly as Brienne left the room, going back to her own. 

Five more days, and she’d be back where she belonged.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing and uploading at the same time. I have created so many plot holes that I then need to go back and fix. Lucky I'm writing a few chapters in advance! 
> 
> Anyway, hopefully nothing becomes too confusing and I hope you enjoy! I know it's a little scene setting, background painting at the moment but the action is coming....probably 
> 
> :)
> 
> Also I have been at a work course all day and my brain is fried so I am very sorry about any mistakes

Brienne was panicking. You’d never know it to look at her – she'd perfected the calm face over the years. The only way she ever gave away how she was feeling was with her blushes, and though they came often, they were usually because she was angry, or embarrassed, or pissed off. Nobody would ever know her brain was running a million miles. 

She stared at herself in the floor length mirror she knew each of these rooms had, twisting this way and that. She hadn’t really considered Mr Baelish evil – but now she knew she was wrong. Why else would somebody spring something like a ‘family and friends gathering’ on people with half an hours' notice, if not for vindictive pleasure? Sure, it would add drama – most of the women had been hanging around in jeans and t-shirts when Mr Baelish had come into the garden and announced the friends and family gathering would be happening in the next thirty minutes. There had been shrieks, and a stampede the likes of which Brienne had never seen before, and she’d been in a shopping centre where One Direction were performing once, caught up in a fangirl mob. She’d feared for her life there, but that was nothing compared to the cold terror that had seized her now. She hadn’t prepared! She needed to spend at least a day thinking of good questions to ask, and a couple of hours to try and make herself look presentable. She needed a time to calm her nerves. 

She’d been one of the few women left in the garden after Mr Baelish had swept out. Sansa had been there, staring down at her uneaten plate of food. They hadn’t had a chance to catch up, but Brienne figured it was good she hadn’t snuck out in the middle of the night. Cersei stayed in the garden, too, sipping juice and watching the women scatter with an amused expression on her face. She was already up and dressed – this time in a tight-fitting corset dress with another floor length skirt. Brienne didn’t like Cersei, but she had to admire her commitment to fashion. It was a hot day, the sun already burning even at 10am. The fabric of the dress would suck the heat in, and Brienne had to image that Cersei was sweating, even if you’d never know it to look at her. 

Yara had stayed too, finishing her breakfast with ease. 

Brienne had got up eventually. She didn’t know who Jaime Lannister’s friends and family would be – although they’d already heard that although his father was one of them, he wouldn’t be appearing for a few weeks, which she guessed eased some of the pressure – and she knew she wasn’t trying to win this thing. 

But still. She didn’t want them to think her completely unworthy. She had to make up for her face. Show them there was some merit to her being here, even if she would be gone next week. 

‘Don’t look so worried,’ said a voice at her door, and Brienne whipped around, unsurprised to see Sansa and Margaery there. The girls had linked arms, and were both staring in at her. They looked like sisters, both in gauzy dresses patterned with flowers – roses for Margaery, of course, and sunflowers for Sansa – and their hair plaited down their backs. ‘Nobody’s going to eat you,’ Sansa said. There was a lingering sense of sadness in her eyes, but she smiled brightly when Brienne looked at her. 

‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Margaery said. ‘You haven’t heard who Jaime’s got for his friends and family, yet. I very much doubt the people he hangs around with are going to be pleasant.’ There was something there, some stirring in Brienne’s memory from newspapers articles long gone about the eldest Lannister’s involvement in a gang. That was why he’d murdered that man, the guy who owned all the clubs – because Jaime’s gang wanted to take over and use his premises as a place to run drugs, and he wouldn’t let them. 

At least that was one of the rumours, anyway. 

‘I’m sure his brother will be one of them,’ Sansa said. ‘In fact, I’m positive. From what I know, which granted isn’t much since the word Lannister is banned in our house, Jaime's only friend in the world is Tyrion. I don’t know how he’s found three other people who care about him.’ Her mouth puckered like she’d eaten something sour when she said ‘Jaime.’ 

‘Oh, Tyrion’s a laugh,’ said Margaery. Brienne gave her a look. Tyrion might be a laugh when he liked you, but whenever they’d met – which could probably be averaged out to once a year for the last ten – he liked to look Brienne up and down and make some sort of tall joke. ‘He is. Once you get some wine into him, he’s great.’ 

Brienne gave one last look into the mirror, regretting it instantly, and then shoved her way past the two of them and out of her room. Time to get this over with. 

‘Are you really wearing that?’ Sansa asked. ‘I’m not trying to be rude, but you look like you’re about to go for an interview, not an ‘informal gathering.’’. She made air quotes around the last two words, quoting Mr Baelish. ‘I know you can do better than that. I’ve seen your wardrobe, remember? Isn’t this the perfect moment for ‘the dress?’’ Brienne shook her head. 

‘‘The Dress’,’ she said, ‘is for a special event. Not this.’ She thought about the most magical item of clothing she owned, hanging at the back of her wardrobe in her make shift room. She’d had it a year now, and as of yet had never found a place to wear it. There was something holding her back. She’d know when the time was, she was sure of it. And she didn’t want to waste the dress on something this mundane. ‘And I know I look like I’m about to interview,’ she said gesturing down at her black trousers and white shirt. Both of them were slightly baggy, billowing around her feet and shoulders. ‘I know this isn’t putting my best foot forward,’ she said, as they made their way downstairs, out once more into the garden, where the rest of the women were already milling about. ‘But, like I said last night, that’s not what I’m here for. I want to make a good impression, but...I don’t actually want to. Does that make sense?’ 

‘No,’ Sansa said. Brienne didn’t blame her. She didn’t expect Sansa Stark to get it. She wanted people not to think she was an idiot. That she was perfectly able to meet strangers and make small talk, get her points across. That she could manage whatever was thrown at her, without falling apart. 

But she also, really, really didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. There was no way she would win this thing. And though she didn’t want to come across like Yara, like she’d literally rather be anywhere else, or even the way Sansa had decided to go – showing that she didn’t give a damn, like she’d rather stab herself in the eyes with a rusty needle than marry Jaime Lannister -, she hated the idea of going the other way too. The idea of putting on pretty dresses, and a full face of make-up, and pushing herself to the front of the camera made her brake out in a cold sweat. Putting all that effort in, for something that was never going to happen. Everyone would think she was pathetic. Lusting after a man she'd never be able to get. 

‘Is that them?’ Sansa had grabbed Brienne’s elbow, the three of them stopping at the edge of the grass. Over on the other side, was a very odd assortment of men, from what Brienne could see. There was Mr Baelish, talking to them, his usual smirk on his face as he surveyed the women still arriving outside. Next to him was Tyrion, the short man looking around as well. Brienne thought he’d be trying to get the measure of the women already, but he seemed completely uninterested. Maybe he’d already realised that he’d met most of them. 

Maybe he was unimpressed with the selection for his brother. There was a tall man next to him – although Brienne realised, she was still taller than him – with half his face scarred. He was staring at the small group of women nearest him, his gaze steady. An unease spread over Brienne. He didn’t look like someone to mess with. 

There were two more dark haired men in the group, one with long hair who was eyeing the women nearest him as well, although with a very different gaze from his other friend. This guy looked almost hungry, and he sent a shiver down Brienne’s spine for another reason. She vowed to keep close to Sansa and Margaery and all the other girl’s she knew this man would be interested in. He turned to the man he was standing next to, and Brienne narrowed her eyes. That couldn’t be... 

‘Podrick Payne?’ she whispered to herself. Sansa and Margaery turned to look at her, then back at the men. 

‘Who?’ asked Sansa, at the same time Margaery asked ‘which one?’ 

A nervous laugh was building up inside Brienne. There was someone she could talk to. Someone she could relax around. She never had to think about what she said around Pod. 

‘Pod,’ she said, pointing at the young boy. Around them producers were ushering the women into the middle of the garden, calling out to each everyone to get in position. They had about two minutes left before it was go time. ‘I’ve known him since he was teenager. He came to those self-defence classes I taught. He was pretty good. Used to help me out if I needed an attacker for the female class I did.’ 

‘I forgot you used to do those,’ Margaery said. They hadn’t been asked to get into their normal semi-circle pattern, so the three of them huddled at the end of the hastily made circle of women, keeping their voices low. 

Brienne had taken up the lessons after a business meeting with one of her father’s associates, where the guy had spent the whole hour making cutting comments about her size. She’d only been a teenager herself then, just starting to get a feel for the business, and when her father had found her in tears after, he’d sent her for lessons hoping they’d make her feel better. She’d taken over the teaching class when the instructor had gone on leave, and they couldn’t find anyone else. 

Brienne’s father had been pretty upset with her taking the class. He’d only let her do it, on the basis that she gave it up when she was ready to have more of a hand in the business, and he’d only really agreed because she refused to give it up. 

Until two years ago when she’d finally decided it was time to get to know the business, she would one day be leader of. She’d taken a home on the island her father owned, and got to grips with the numbers. It would be nice to see what Pod had been up to. 

‘Grandmother’s brought my brother a gym,’ Margaery said now, her voice barley a whisper. The microphones which were always attached to them seemed to pick up the smallest sound. ‘She’s officially announced that I’ll be taking over. She’s washed her hands of Loras. Brought him a gym and said he can do what he likes with it and good luck to him.’ It was hard to miss the note of pride in Margaery’s voice. Brienne knew she’d always been worried that her Grandmother would let one of her brother’s take the lead when it came to the business, and so had done everything she could to show her Grandmother that she was the one who should be left in charge. 

Brienne was glad to know she’d finally get what she’d always wanted. 

She was also glad to hear that Loras Tyrell now had his own gym. They’d attended the same one for a few years now, and had even fought each other a few times – in the ring, at fencing, anything where they needed a sparring partner. Loras was only too happy to challenge Brienne. 

He kept telling her he’d beat her one day, but as of yet, she’d won every match. Now he had his own gym Brienne had no doubt there would be more sparring matches in the near future. 

A hush had fallen over the garden now. Varys had appeared, standing next to the four gentlemen, opposite the group of women, all of them staring at each other. 

Brienne reminded herself to relax. She knew Tyrion. She knew Pod. She knew neither of them would probably burst out laughing at seeing her in this group. And she could take it if the others did. 

‘Ladies, it is my pleasure to introduce you to this year’s F&F please join me in giving a warm hand to Jaime Lannister’s little brother Tyrion, his assistant Podrick Payne, and his friends, Bronn Blackwater and...The Hound!’ Varys stumbled a little over the last name, and Brienne could see a lot of raised eyebrows around. The Hound wasn’t a name. It was a nickname, but it sounded much more suited to someone who didn’t want people to know his true identity. Someone who was there to protect rather than help chose a suitable bride. 

Brienne’s very limited respect for Tywin Lannister grew. He was smart. The Hound was here to protect Jaime that was obvious. It had been four years since Jaime had attacked Aerys Targaryen. As far as Brienne knew – and she knew a lot more than she’d like, due to the nature of business – this was the first time Jaime was coming back into the public eye. Having someone to look out for him was a good shout. 

Despite herself, Brienne was a little impressed. This showed forward thinking on behalf of the Lannister’s and before now she’d always assumed they were the type of family who dealt with what was in front of their faces, as and when problems arose. 

‘Not to be rude, but I would have much preferred the word ‘younger’,’ Tyrion said. He smiled to show he was joking. ‘Now is it time for us to meet these delightful ladies who all want to marry my brother, although Gods knows why?’ This time the smile was turned to them. ‘I can’t wait to get to know you all.’ As much as the words were sincere, there was a lurking threat behind them. Brienne stood to her full height, meeting Tyrion’s green-eyed gaze when it came to rest on her. 

She knew one other thing about the Lannister family. Show them any sign of weakness and it would be your downfall. 

‘Of course. It's my pleasure to say you may now mingle,' Varys said. He swept his hands to gesture to the women, and it was almost comical. Watching the four men lumber across the grass towards them, seeing their brains tick in their heads as they wondered which woman to go for. 

Well, Brienne thought. She wasn’t going to cower in the background. She was never able to hide, so why not use it to her advantage? With determination on her face – let the public make of that what they would – she strode over the grass towards Pod, not bothering to see what the other women were doing. 

‘Podrick,’ she said, once she was near him. The boy faltered then turned to face her, a giant smile on his face. In spite of the sternness Brienne was hoping to project, she felt a smile on her face as well. There was something about Pod’s smile that made you have to answer it with one of your own. It turned his still boyish face even younger, making his cheeks puff out. ‘I didn’t know you worked for the Lannister's. You really have come a long way. You didn’t tell me you worked for them.’ 

His smile dimmed a little. 

‘It’s good to see you too, Brienne,’ he said. ‘I knew you were friends with the Starks. They picked you up after a class once or twice. And you’d been photographed together in magazines. And the job came up a few years ago, and I thought it sounded quite good, and when I went to interview it was such a cool building and the guy interviewing me was smart and charming and then I got the job even though I didn’t think I would and then I didn’t want you to hate me.’ That was the longest Brienne had ever heard Pod speak. His neck was splotchy and red, and he was avoiding her eyes. 

‘I wouldn’t have hated you for getting a job,’ Brienne said. ‘I might not like the Lannister’s but getting hired by them is a massive achievement. They only take the best.’ She chuckled. ‘And I probably would have brought you a present if I knew you’d been able to stick it out for so long.’ 

‘It’s not that bad,’ Pod said. His smile was back now. Brienne raised an eyebrow. Everyone she’d ever met who had worked in the Lannister building – a huge tower in the middle of Central London – had been a shadow of their former self. Tired, over worked, asked to do things that weren’t entirely legal. And then usually let go as the business went through one of its many restructures. 

Brienne had been to her fair share of ‘I escaped the Lannister’s’ parties. ‘It’s actually quite fun. I’ve learned a lot,' Pod said.

‘You’ve learned a lot from being Jaime Lannister’s assistant?’ Brienne, if she was given to such habits, would have snorted. But, as a child, she’d tried to keep herself to herself as much as possible, which meant not drawing attention to herself. Any habit she developed was small and measured. She might not have an issue being the centre of attention any more – although she didn’t relish it – but nothing about her was loud. Even her laugh was more of a huff of air though her lips and a blinding smile than actual noise. 

‘I have learned a lot,’ Pod repeated. ‘He’s not so bad.’ Brienne made a thoughtful sound, but she didn’t believe Pod.  
Although. If Jaime Lannister could inspire someone like Pod to stick up for him, maybe there was something there. A point, or a hidden personality. 

‘What do we have here?’ said a voice. Brienne put her smile back on, pushing down on the sigh that longed to escape. Tyrion had joined her and Pod, Gilly, Shae and Roslin trailing him and hanging on the outskirts of the little group. Shae didn’t seem to be able to take her eyes off him. ‘Pod you know Brienne Tarth?’ 

‘I do,’ Pod answered. ‘Do you?’ 

Tyrion waved a hand dismissing the comment. ‘I know most people here. The world of the higher classes in London is extremely small. Although, Brienne, do remind me.’ He turned to her, and Brienne looked down feeling a sweat back out on her lower back. What she wouldn’t give for this to be over with. But it had only been going on for ten minutes, and the sun was still high in the sky. She knew how this would work. They’d film for at least four hours before they’d all be allowed to go back to their rooms. And the segment would only last ten minutes on the first episode, airing Saturday. ‘How do we know each other? Your father has a business, I know that, but what business? I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever known. You’ve always just seemed to be there.’ 

‘Oh, he does a few things,’ Brienne said. She wanted to leave now, and looked around for an escape. Bronn Blackwater was holding court, one knee up on a chair while Ros, Talisa, Ellaria, Pia and Myranda sat around him. Ros was looking at him like he was everything she’d ever wanted, leaning forward, her chest heaving, and he was glancing at her more than any of the others. They all seemed to be laughing, though. 

The Hound was standing, arms crossed while Sansa and Margaery had an animated conversation in front of him. His black eyes were staring straight at Sansa, although she hadn’t seemed to notice. 

Brienne’s Sansa senses started to prickle. 

‘He’s never tried to do business with my father, though, am I correct in thinking? I don’t remember ever seeing you around the offices.’ 

‘Gods no,’ Brienne said. She knew she was doing a poor job at hiding her feelings for the Lannisters, but she had more important issues to deal with right now. She forced a chuckle. ‘I mean my father is in a very different business to yours.’ 

‘My father has a hand in every business,’ Tyrion said. He was eyeing her curiously now. ‘And he always insists on doing business with the very best. You know, now I think on it, I can’t even recall who your father is. I’m not sure I know another Tarth.’ 

‘He doesn’t go by his last name,’ Brienne said, the words slipping out. 

‘Wait,’ Shae said, interrupting them. Brienne dragged her eyes back to the group. She didn’t want to appear rude. ‘Am I right in thinking that you two know each other? You’ve already met?’ Brienne nodded. ‘Have you already met Jaime?' Shae asked. Everyone’s attention switched to Brienne. 

‘A few times,’ she said. ‘But we’ve barely exchanged four words to each other.’ She flushed with the memory of their very first – and really only encounter. A random party where being drunk was the only way to get through the evening, Jaime Lannister had walked into her, mumbled what she’d taken to be an apology, then squinted up at her through bleary eyes and said loudly ‘gods, you’re a woman.’ 

She’d left soon after, and avoided the older Lannister since. ‘He was more into the parties thrown by his father’s business associates, which my father attended.’ 

‘Whereas we,’ Tyrion said pointing at himself, Brienne, and then a few of the other women scattered around - ‘hang out at the parties thrown by the heirs. Much more fun.’ 

Shae was still looking upset. ‘It still gives some of the others an advantage. You’ve spoken to him before. The whole point of this is that everything is supposed to be a complete surprise to everyone involved.’ 

Brienne caught the look Tyrion and Pod exchanged, but she couldn’t try to figure out what it meant. 

‘If you’re worried, I can always offer you some private lessons. Tell you about my brother,’ Tyrion said. 

‘What if it’s not just your brother I am interested in?’ Shae said. She seemed a little less angry now, and Brienne ducked out of the conversation once again. 

The Hound was moving closer to Sansa now, a dark look in his eyes. ‘Excuse me gentlemen. I’d hate to take up all of your time when there are so many other women here you need to get to know,’ Brienne said. She didn’t even think about it as she bobbed a bow to them, before turning and walking over to her friends. 

If she hadn’t been so intent on getting to Sansa before The Hound got his hands on her, she’d have had time to think about the bow and be utterly mortified. 

As it was, she didn’t even spare it a thought. 

‘Sansa,’ she said reaching for the girl’s arm and drawing her back from The Hound a little. ‘How are we doing over here? I forgot Tyrion could be so intense sometimes.’ The Hound was staring at her now, but she’d take it. Anything to get his attention off Sansa. 

She wasn’t sure he was a bad man. She’d met plenty of evil men in her time, men who had tried to take advantage of Sansa thinking her pretty and vulnerable. They’d never got very far, not while Brienne or Margaery or one of Sansa’s brothers were around. 

But still. She didn’t like the look in The Hound’s eye. If he was on the Lannister’s pay roll – and he had to be, Brienne was sure of that – he could be here to do more than protect Jaime Lannister. And she was sure Sansa being on this show was more to do with Mr Baelish than anyone else. The Lannister's probably wanted her gone as soon as possible. Trying to relaunch Jaime's glittering profile would be harder with Sansa around. They didn’t want people to remember their family’s harshness, their cold heartlessness. 

‘Only when he’s trying to figure you out,’ Sansa said. ‘We’ve been chatting with The um, Hound here,’ she said, stumbling over his name. She dropped her voice. ‘Or at least we’ve been talking in front of him. He doesn’t seem to say much.’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said. The Hound’s eyes hadn’t left hers, and she wasn’t stupid enough to look away. ‘I don’t suppose he does.’ 

There was a beat before Margaery gave her tinkling laugh, and grabbed Sansa’s other arm. ‘We’ve been terribly rude. We should go and say hello to the others. Get to know them. Excuse us,’ she said to The Hound, ‘it’s been very nice to meet you.’ She gave him her graceful smile, only tugging on Sansa’s arm a little to get her to follow. Brienne watched them join Bronn Blackwater’s group, her breathing returning to normal. 

‘You’re very protective of the girl,’ said a gruff voice. Brienne stilled. 

‘I love her like she’s my sister,’ Brienne said. ‘I’d die for her.’ 

‘You might live to regret that promise,’ The Hound said. 

‘Is that a threat?’ Brienne asked. A fury was simmering though her. Wasn’t it enough that Sansa had to be here, endure the shame that would surely come from staying in this contest to win a man’s hand who had destroyed her family, she’d now have to put up with whatever this guy’s problem was too? ‘I wouldn’t go around making many of them if I were you. Sansa has a lot of love here. I’m not the only one who’s willing to protect her.’ He followed her gaze to where Brienne had focused on Petyr Baelish. ‘He loved her mother from when they were young. Now Sansa’s bloomed into a woman, I think those feelings have transferred. And while I’d advise you not to get on my bad side, you certainly don’t want to be on his.’ 

If the Lannister’s business was a front for all the illegal things they got up to, Brienne didn’t even want to think about what Petyr’s TV company was hiding. Rumours swirled, as they did about everybody, but she shut her ears to the ones about him. Nothing good would come of it. 

‘Careful,’ The Hound growled. Brienne could see how he’d gotten his name if that was the only way he could speak. ‘I don’t think your producer is going to like you talking about him like that.’ His eyes flicked to the place her microphone was hidden. 

‘I think he might make an exception. For Sansa Stark,’ Brienne said. Another beat passed between them before The Hound flicked his gaze away, turning slightly. ‘I’m not here to hurt her,’ he said. 

‘Good. Then we’re on the same page.’ Brienne walked away, wanting to have the last word. No matter what he said she was going to keep her eye on him. If something happened to Sansa because she hadn’t been paying enough attention, she’d never forgive herself. 

She’d talked to Tyrion. She’d talked to Pod. And she’d spoken to The Hound and had no interest in going back to any of them. Which left her one option, and one option only; Bronn Blackwater. 

Well, Brienne supposed, squaring her shoulders and walking over to the group of women still staring up at him, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon than letting the mindless chatter of a man who clearly thought too much of himself wash over her. She could track Pod down later and speak to him again. She might even go back to Tyrion if she could get to him. No doubt some of these women would spend the entire afternoon with him, knowing he would be the one needed to win over, to get to Jaime’s heart. 

Even if Brienne secretly doubted Jaime Lannister had one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; this is a Jaime chapter which means there is a lot of Jaime / Cersei in this one. 
> 
> Anyhoo, I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it!

Jaime was sweating. Seven spotlights shone down on him, each of them making it impossible to look away from Varys’s face. If he did, his eyes were assaulted by a flat white light which meant he’d spend the next two minutes trying to blink away the blinding circles burnt into them. This couldn’t be what they were aiming for surely – they'd be a fine sheen on his forehead. No amount of editing would be able to take it away. 

‘So, Jaime Lannister. The famous Lannister,’ Varys said, drawing Jaime’s attention back to him. He’d never met Varys – no last name – before this morning. But he’d heard of him. You couldn’t live in the UK and not know who Varys was. He’d been around forever, popping up presenting several prime-time television shows a year. He was known for his simpering personality, but hired for his uncanny ability to wheedle information out of anybody. If you had a secret, he would find it. Years ago, he’d hosted his own chat show, pulling in the viewers each week as he pulled unknown information about his celebrity guests out seemingly from nowhere. The audience loved it. The guests didn’t, and even though the views were up there, after one series the chat show had been cancelled; nobody wanted to go on it, not even those D list reality show celebs who’d sell their own grandma for a spot on any interviewers couch. 

With a start, Jaime realised he was now a D list reality show celeb. Sure, he’d had his fair share of the limelight in the past, before he’d taken a man’s life, but he’d only done interviews to try and promote the company. Even red-carpet premiers he’d only done if the company had put their money into the films. 

‘No so famous any more,’ Jaime faked a laugh and wished desperately he could peek a glance at his watch. How much longer were they going to drag this out for? He’d thought these moments would take all of five minutes; tell the contestants what they’d be doing to prove they were worthy of him this week, smile at the camera, and then wrapped up and done. 

He’d already been in the house two hours, and that was just for hair, make-up and style. He wasn’t surprised his ‘look’ for this show was all half open perfectly crisp white shirts, and tight-fitting dark jeans. Personally, he felt like the model in an aftershave advert. But he reminded himself, his opinion didn’t matter here. He didn’t need to try and sell himself to these women. Only one of them mattered, and he already knew he meant everything to her. 

Well. He meant a lot to her. He wasn’t so stupid as to think he was the most important person in Cersei’s life, although she was in his. But she had kids. Jaime wouldn’t want to come before them, anyway. 

It was that a little voice in his head told him he came underneath her dog in Cersei’s affections that sometimes bothered him. She treated the stupid yappy thing like another child, spending almost as much money on it as she did on Tommen and Myrcella, her actual children. 

‘Infamous, though, certainly,’ Varys simpered. Jaime wasn’t sure there was another word to describe Varys. Even though he had to be in his 40’s - maybe even early 50’s, although Jaime thought Varys would rather die than to admit to it – because of his large statue, filling his face out, Varys still looked young. His face was round, he was completely bald, and for some reason he insisted on wearing brightly coloured robes, that twisted around his body and flowed to the floor. It was something about a ‘spiritual journey’ he’d been on back in his youth, and he was never seen in anything else. Honestly, a picture of Varys in jeans and a t-shirt would probably have a bidding war over it. 

Varys made himself look even younger by sitting with his hands crossed in his lap, and staring up at Jaime. He looked like a child just waiting to be praised for doing something right, although Jaime wasn’t stupid enough to believe the innocence Varys was trying to project. He knew there was a river of cunning and steel running through the presenter’s body. 

‘Certainly,’ Jaime agreed. He wouldn’t give Varys an inch, he’d decided. One wrong move and this whole farce would be over before he even hoped it would be. They weren’t far enough along in the show that the suitor couldn’t be replaced. 

‘So, last week the girls all found out who they were going to be competing for. How do you think they felt in that moment? Do you think you’re a prize worthy of these women?’ 

Cersei had told Jaime all about the ‘unveiling’ as they were calling it. She’d said they’d all been ushered into the garden like sheep, standing around in a half-circle. She’d moaned about the arrangement, even though it sounded like she was in the middle and would be front and centre for the cameras. The first episode introducing everyone to the public would air soon. Show the women to their best advantage, and then unveil Jaime too. He’d seen articles wondering who’d they’d gotten for the first UK series of The One. 

He knew there would be articles on Sunday. And that none of them would be complementary. 

He thought about Sansa Stark, and Petyr Baelish’s spy. He thought about Cersei, and Margery Tyrell. He thought about the woman who had stood out for the wrong reasons, and it was her in his mind when he answered. 

‘I’m sure some of them are not even prizes worthy of me,’ he said, smirking into where he thought the camera facing him was, although he wasn’t sure. He knew three of them were currently focused on him. 

Let them write about what a prick he was, he thought. About how he thought so much of himself none of these women knew what they’d let themselves in for. About how he’d never love anyone as much as he obviously loved himself. 

Let him be the Jaime Lannister again to the public, and not the murderer they’d come to know him as. He knew there was a ridiculous nickname for him floating around, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wasn’t that person. 

He wasn’t the media darling Jaime Lannister anymore, either, he thought, eyes travelling to his fake hand. But he could get there. As long as he kept up the pretence. 

‘And how do you think they got along with your F&F?’ Varys asked. ‘I know your father couldn’t be there, but your other friends were. Did they tell you anything afterwards?’ He nudged Jaime’s knee, like they were friends, gossiping over coffee. 

Jaime gave a short laugh. Tyrion had practically given him a play by play account of the whole evening, Pod and Bronn chiming in here and there. The Hound had sat in a corner of the room as usual, although there appeared to be a hint of a smile on his face. 

‘They know better than that,’ Jaime said. ‘And before you ask, I didn’t even try to get anything out of them. Everything being a secret is exciting. I want to know nothing about my future wife. Not even a hint.’ 

Jaime could play this game. He was well trained, and smart, and good at keeping things to himself. He wouldn’t slip. Too much was at stake. 

The women meeting his F&F m would air after the introductions, taking up the last part of the show. Petyr had told Jaime that this little video would be the first part of next week’s episode – they only wanted the public to see Jaime Lannister was the suitor for the first week. He wanted to stew them up, get them talking. Make them outraged that Jaime was once again getting screen time. Petyr had no interest in repairing Jaime’s reputation – in fact he liked that Jaime wasn't loved. They weren’t going to start ‘showing the real Jaime’ - Petyr’s words – until the second week, when everyone would tune in to see if Jaime was really as bad as he’d been made out to be. 

‘That’s what we like to hear!’ Varys said. ‘It almost sounds like you’re enjoying this secrecy!’ Varys gave Jaime a shrewd look, and for one heart stopping moment, Jaime was convinced he knew. Everything. 

But that was silly. Bronn wouldn’t say anything, he wasn’t even sure The Hound could speak, and Pod would be sued and fired if he revealed anything. Before Jaime could speak, Varys moved on, turning to face the camera at the front of the room. 

Or at least where Jaime assumed it was. 

‘For the audience who don’t know how this works, please bear with me while I give you a brief explanation. Each week our suitor, Mr Jaime Lannister, will set the contestants a task. It will be something close to him – something he enjoys doing. You’ll be able to watch the contestants taking part, so you’ll get an idea which one is best suited to him. You wouldn’t want him to end up with someone who hates everything he loves would you?’ Varys gave a small laugh, and suddenly Jaime was sweating and not just because of the lights. ‘Lines will open at the beginning of each episode, starting next week, and you’ll watch the girls give their best shot to each task. Lines will close just before the final ad break, and when we come back five of the women will be voted off, thanks to your votes!’ Varys turned back to Jaime. ‘Jaime, please tell everyone the first task you’ve set.’ 

‘A day at the gym,’ Jaime said, flashing a grin on reflex. His brain was no longer in the room. ‘As you can probably tell, I spend a lot of my time there; kick boxing, weights, even boxing. I’m quite the fighter.’ He faulted. Was that too much? The last fight he’d gotten had resulted in the loss of his hand and the death of a man. For ten seconds Jaime and Varys grinned into the cameras; a video of Jaime in the boxing ring would play in the episode. Show him off to his best. He'd filmed it just a few days ago, giving them everything they asked for; too little shorts, too tight a tank top, his hair messy with sweat. 

‘The girls will spend a couple of hours at a gym, where a specially designed program has been put together for them,’ Jaime said. 

‘Would you say it’s important for them to be able to keep up with you at the gym?’ Varys asked. 

‘I’d say they don’t have to be a gym bunny,’ Jaime replied. ‘But exercise is important to me. I like a woman who takes care of herself. Good for the body, good for the soul. Plus strong women are always a turn on,’ he added on the end, wondering where that had come from. He always took charge in the bedroom when it was him and Cersei. And it had only ever been him and Cersei. Even when she’d married Robert, Jaime couldn’t bring himself to go to a bar and go home with someone else, even though he’d had plenty of offers. 

But the idea...of someone taking charge...maybe slamming him up against a wall...well. Now he’d thought it, he couldn’t quite get the idea out of his mind. 

Never mind. He’d give up being pushed around in the bedroom for Cersei any day. For her slender arms, wrapped around his waist, her slim legs around his. That was what he wanted. More than his fantasies. 

‘Thank you for that too much information,’ Varys said. He turned to the front again, Jaime following his lead. ‘And now let’s see how the ladies got on with this week’s task.' For another ten seconds they grinned into silence, until somebody shouted cut. 

It was over. The first part had been done, and there was nothing for Jaime to do now. 

Except worry. 

* 

‘I’m an idiot,’ Jaime moaned. His head was in his hands, elbows on his knees. 

‘Well, we all know that dear brother, but why in particular this time?’ Tyrion asked. 

‘My first task,’ Jaime said. ‘Is a day at the gym.’ 

‘Yes,’ Tyrion said slowly. It was just the brothers in the hotel tonight. Pod had gone back to his own flat for the week, and Bronn and The Hound were gods knows where. Bronn hadn’t volunteered any information and Jaime hadn’t asked. Better to let them get on with it and not ask too many questions least he found out something he could never forget. ‘I spent the day trying to help you come up with ideas. Personally I thought a gym day was pretty genius. You've spent most of the last three years there after all.’ The gym was Jaime’s happy place. The first year after the incident he'd spent holed up in his flat, consumed with the trial and what he'd done. It was only after Tyrion had forced him to go out, after he'd gotten the self defence verdict and after Cersei had made a reappearance that he'd started to realise life might be worth living for again. 

‘Yes,’ Jaime said. ‘But have you ever known Cersei to break a sweat?’ A cruel smile twisted Tyrion’s mouth. 

‘Well, no, but I can’t say I get up to the same strenuous activities with our dear cousin that you do.’ Tyrion liked to make comments about the unhealthy relationship between Cersei and Jaime whenever he could. He didn’t think she was good enough for Jaime; just because her strain of the family were slightly too far down the ladder. For all Tyrion liked to pretend he wasn’t just like their father, Jaime had always thought he was; at least where it counted. His disdain for Cersei was poorly hidden. 

Not that Cersei cared. She gave as good as she got. Usually, if the two of them were in the same room, she’d pretend Tyrion wasn’t there, unless she needed to make some sort of catty comment. Tyrion was an easy target. 

It was the one thing Jaime wished he could change about his lover. She had a sharp tongue, and though he usually went along with her thoughts, because keeping her sweet was better than dealing with whatever she’d give to him later if he didn’t, Tyrion was the only other person Jaime would die for. He hated that they seemed to have declared a war between themselves. 

‘Hilarious,’ Jaime deadpanned. ‘She’s going to kill me when she finds out.’ 

‘Maybe a warning would be a good idea,’ Tyrion said. He slunk from the sofa, to pour himself another measure of wine. Jaime eyed the full glass in his hand. He rarely drank, or at least not more than a few sips each evening. Tyrion on the other hand seemed to be developing a problem. Jaime would have to keep an eye on that. ‘She’ll be here soon, won’t she?’ He nodded at the large clock that took up half of one of the hotel’s walls. Cersei usually arrived around 10pm, sneaking out twenty minutes before. Bronn had assured them that the route she took wasn’t picked up by cameras. 

‘You might not want to stick around for this,’ Jaime said. He threw his head back against the sofa. Why hadn’t he thought this through? Why hadn’t he asked Cersei for ideas? She would have given him a list of things that showed off her talents, made her look perfect for him. 

Even if none of those things would actually be anything he had an interest in. He ignored the voices telling him that he didn’t think about Cersei while he was filing the form in for good reason. He didn’t want to watch women choose who could plait hair the best, or go wine tasting, or... 

He shook his brain free of those thoughts. He couldn’t think of anything else Cersei was good at. 

He loved her. That was enough. 

‘You’re probably right,’ Tyrion said. He drained his glass, sliding it back onto the table. ‘Well, let me know how it goes, although no doubt I’ll be able to hear our cousin’s sweet screams. Very different from the ones I’ve been hearing, no doubt.’ 

Jaime shot his brother a dark look. Very rarely, he wished he were an only child. ‘We’ll all be back tomorrow night to watch the first show.’ 

‘How exciting,’ Jaime said, although there was a flutter in his stomach. He’d heard from Cersei how the women had reacted to finding out he was the suitor; but she tended to gloss over the details, or just pick out the ones she could laugh at. 

Not that it mattered, but would any of them think he was worthy? Would any of them actually want him? 

As if she’d been summoned, a knock came at the door. Jaime pushed himself up to answer it, and Tyrion left the room, muttering something Jaime didn’t catch. 

He knew something was wrong as soon as he saw her; he ushered her into the room quickly. The face he loved seemed to be carved from stone, but her green eyes, so like his, blazed with fire. Lannister eyes, they were called. Tywin insisted that everyone in the family was born with them. There was another distant cousin who’d been born with brown eyes; Jaime didn’t know what had happened to him. He was never mentioned now days. 

‘And just when were you planning on telling me what our first task was?’ Cersei asked. ‘A day at the gym? I almost feel like I’m about to take part in a children’s book, although with your reading level that’s hardly surprising.’ Jaime let the blow pass him by. It was just Cersei’s way of trying to get to him; of letting him know he didn’t have the power over her. When her emotions crept too high, Cersei used her words to try and level the playing field. When she was angry, she wanted Jaime to be angry too, to scream and shout with her. 

He hadn’t given that to her since he realised that was what she wanted. He would never say such things to her; she needed to know she was loved, no matter what. That he wasn’t going to leave her, no matter what she threw at him. 

He would always be there for her. Whatever the world threw at them. 

‘How did you find out?’ he asked, keeping his tone calm. ‘I was planning to tell you. Tonight. But I thought it was better to do it face to face, not over the phone.’ If he’d done that, she wouldn’t have come tonight. A fitting punishment, denying him her company for a night. The first few days here had been a struggle, not being able to see her or hear her whenever he wanted. He couldn’t just pull his phone out to video call her. Couldn’t sneak into the building she worked in, and visit her in her office. 

‘We’ve spent all day trying on gym clothes. Of course, they wouldn’t actually tell us what our first task was going to be, but it hardly takes a genius to figure it out. And Bronn confirmed it when I called him.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaime said. ‘I didn’t think.’ 

‘The problem with you, Jaime, is that you never do.’ He hung his head. There was no point talking to her when she was like this. She needed space to calm down, time to shake her anger off. ‘Just tell me none of the other tasks will be this ridiculous?’ 

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know. I think the public will like seeing you in leggings and a tight tank top, gleaming on the treadmill.’ He flashed a grin at her; but she flicked her eyes away in irritation. This wasn’t the time for jokes. 

‘A treadmill I can handle, but I know what you do when you go to the gym. Boxing, isn’t it? Fighting in a ring. I can already picture Petyr pitching us girls against each other.’ She shook her head, loose blonde curls falling down her back. 

Even angry she was impressive. The most beautiful woman Jaime had ever seen. Nothing was ever going to make him think her face wasn’t perfect, that the way she held herself wasn't a masterpiece all of itself. When Cersei walked, people took notice. And they didn’t stop until she left. 

He’d never met anyone else who made such an impression on those around them. 

‘We’ll think of something,’ Jaime said. He crossed the room to her, taking her in his arms. ‘And it’s just one day. It will be over before you know it, and then we’ll be together. It’s what we’ve always wanted.’ He stroked a finger down her cheek, bending to kiss her. 

She let him. For a few seconds, before drawing away from him. 

‘I’ll fix it you mean,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do with some stupid idea of yours.’ Romantic gestures he’d planned for her flashed through his mind; none of them had ever gone to plan. 

But she was right. It was stupid to do something that could have gotten them caught. If someone had seen them when they were children, their parents would have stopped them seeing each other. If someone caught them as teenagers, Twyin would have had a fit. Her mother and her would have been blacklisted. 

And if anyone had caught wind of them when she was married to Robert, her whole world would have blown up. 

‘Will you be back to watch the episode tomorrow?’ Jaime asked. 

‘Obviously,’ she said, like he should have already known the answer. ‘They won’t let us watch it in the house. Petyr says he doesn’t want to hear complaints about someone getting more screen time, or someone not being shown from the right angle.’ 

‘I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ he said. She’d already reached the door at this point. 

If he was hoping for her to turn around and her face to soften, he squashed it. Cersei wasn’t the type to change her emotions in the space of ten minutes. He knew that. 

And he loved her. She’d sort his mess out, and then come back to him. They’d always worked that way; and nothing was going to change them. 

* 

Jaime was right. On Saturday evening, Cersei was back in his hotel room, acting like nothing had happened. When he asked her if she’d figured out a way to solve his misstep, she’d simply smiled at him, and told him not to worry. She had it under control. 

‘Just think, this time next week you’ll be sitting around in front of cameras waiting to see which five of the women will be voted off,’ Tyrion said. He settled himself into the armchair facing the TV, while Jaime took his place on the sofa next to Cersei. Her gaze flickered over his younger brother, but she didn’t respond to him. Their biggest ever fight had been about the way she treated Tyrion. Jaime had never liked it, but he’d ignored their bickering for years, even when Cersei made unkind comments about Tyrion’s height. It was just how they worked. 

Until Tyrion had pointed out that Cersei had been the one to start it. She hadn’t liked him since he was born, he said. And really, how was he ever meant to do anything other than respond in kind? He had no love for her – they weren’t closely related enough for him to let her words pass. Growing up with that kind of hatred shoved at you every day, meant he couldn’t really feel anything else towards her. 

Jaime wondered if it was the same for him, but with love, not hate. He couldn’t recall when his feelings for Cersei had started – they'd always been there as far as he was concerned. Her mother used to bring her round to the main Lannister house every day, leaving them to spend time together. They’d kissed at age seven, when Cersei had been jealous of one of her friend’s kissing another boy in the playground at lunch time, and that had been all Jaime needed to know she was the one he was meant to be with. 

When they got back together a few years after her marriage to Robert, Jaime had spoken to Cersei about how she treated his brother. She would stop with the words, or he would leave her. She’d laughed at him, a memory that still brought him out in a cold sweat whenever he thought about it. But he’d stood firm. He’d been apart from her the first two years she was with Robert – she said she had to try and make her marriage work - but he’d survived those years. When she saw he was being serious, although she stormed out and didn’t speak to him for two weeks, and Jaime had spent his nights drowning his sorrows in any and all drink he could find, once she’d returned it was to hold her tongue around Tyrion. 

‘How did you manage to sneak out tonight?’ Pod asked. He was sitting on the floor, legs under his chin. Tyrion had insisted that everyone be here to watch their TV ‘debut’. He’d even brought snacks. ‘Isn’t the whole place crawling with cameras?’ Pod’s face was full of innocence as he questioned Cersei. Jaime felt a pang of alarm. He wasn’t sure releasing her on Pod was a great idea, but he couldn’t deny either of them entry to his room. Pod was far too young, and far too naïve to be around people like them, he thought. It would be horrible to see him turn to bitterness and anger, to learn scheming and planning at their hands. 

It was Bronn who answered. 

‘No cameras in the house where the women stay,’ he said. He was sitting in the other armchair, throwing popcorn in the air and catching it in his mouth. Even The Hound, sitting on his usual chair by the door was giving the occasional grunt – his version of laughter – when Bronn made a particular good catch. ‘Or around the front of the house. Well, they couldn’t really, not if they didn’t want unsavoury fuckers to find the house on the internet and go hunting.’ He shook his head, making his shoulder length black hair shiver. ‘There are some sick fucks out there, you mark my words.’ He grinned; a sharp, half twisted thing that was more attack than glee. 

‘Yes, how lucky we are to have you in the room with us. With your skills who knows what you’d be doing if you’d gone to the dark side,’ Tyrion said. He swirled the wine in his glass, the only sign he wasn’t as comfortable as his outward appearance would have you believe. 

‘Hey, there are many people out there who believe you are the dark side,’ Bronn said, pointing his finger. Tyrion inclined his head in agreement. 

‘I have no doubt that even if Petyr Baelish did know girls were sneaking out, he’d encourage them. A great double spread about one of his contestants getting up to no good when she’d supposed to be tucked up and safe? His company would have to refund the people who’d voted for them, if they decided to let her go for breaking the rules, of course, but no doubt the mentions on twitter would be worth it,’ Tyrion said. 

‘There’s a driver who stays by the front of the house for the evening,’ Cersei said. She was gazing at the TV, almost as though she were just speaking out loud, instead of to anyone of the people surrounding her. ‘Petyr said we could use him when as we wished. He told us he understands that sometimes people just need a break, to escape for a little while. I expect the driver texts him with live updates about where I go, but it’s not very interesting checking into a hotel for a few hours, is it? I’ll just tell him I book a couple of spa treatments to relive my stress. Honestly, staying in that house, with those women, I’ll probably have some kind of breakdown soon. They’re all such simpering idiots.’ A few of the other women flashed through Jamie’s head – he wouldn’t call all of them simpering. 

‘Where’s the driver now?’ Bronn asked. ‘Does he just sit downstairs, waiting until you’re ready to go back? What if one of the other girl’s need him?’ 

‘I have no idea,’ Cersei said. She didn’t sound like she cared, either. Other people had never really been interesting to her. If you were one of the few she cared about, you felt cherished, like you’d broken down some kind of special barrier. You were brought in from the cold outside world, into the warmness of her bosom, where she’d keep you. 

‘Shush now,’ Tyrion said. He shifted a little on his seat. ‘It’s starting.’ 

Everyone focused their attention on the screen in front of them. Bronn had insisted the curtains remained shut at all times, and Tyrion, who seemed to be living for the subterfuge, had agreed with him. The room felt small all of a sudden. Jaime wished he were anywhere else. 

He knew tonight’s episode wasn’t about him, but he wasn’t relishing the things that would be written tomorrow. Everything would be dragged up again, the online forums sparking to life once more. There would be discussions of why he did what he did talked about by people who had no idea, and wondering if this would be enough to change everyone’s opinion on him. 

He knew it shouldn’t matter. He was doing this for Cersei, and nothing else. 

But if he failed his father; if people turned off, stopped watching the show because they didn’t want to give him their time, there would be no hope for him. His father would finally, really see him as a worthless case with no redeemable features, and Jaime would be discarded. 

The opening titles started, a black screen, with women’s voices talking about how excited they were, or how they didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t clear if these were the women on the show, or actors. The title flashed up ‘The One’ in huge gold letters floating in the middle of the screen. 

Then Varys appeared. He was standing in what Jaime knew to be the garden at the girl’s house, smiling into the camera. He was such a childhood staple, a familiar face, that Jaime felt himself relaxing a bit. 

This was fine. The women didn’t matter. What the public thought didn’t matter. Only Cersei mattered, and she was right here, next to him. He wanted to reach for her hand. Feel her slim fingers between his, her smooth skin. 

Cersei wasn’t the hand holding type. She’d give him a weird look and pull away from him, probably scoffing at his romantic notion and sharing smirks with Bronn. She wasn’t the type of girl who liked hand holding, or flowers, cuddling or big romantic gestures. 

Instead, Jaime settled himself back into the sofa, grabbing a packet of popcorn. 

He was Jaime Lannister. Fuck whatever anybody else thought of him. 

Varys was still explaining the show to the viewers. Six episodes all together, the first five women voted off next week. There would be more information up on the website about each of the women, and wasn’t everybody just so excited to meet this year’s suitor? 

But now it was time to meet the first five women. Even though he knew who they all were, Jaime watched the screen avidly. Apart from one photo and a few pages of information, he didn’t know these women. Not really. It would be interesting to see how they presented themselves. 

The first one out was Selyse, a former model. People all over the country would be wondering aloud where they recognised her from, although the slightly older viwers would know straight away. She’d graced the covers of the magazines, been pictured on the arms of every footballer and singer going. She’d had a big public fall from grace as well, Jaime remembered. 

‘I thought you said you were the first one interviewed?’ Tyrion asked. There was the underlying brittleness in his voice, that came whenever he had to speak to Cersei, and Jaime felt her stiffen. 

‘On the day, I was the first one out of the room. But they obviously haven’t filmed in one straight line. Our interviews have been edited together.’ Her words were clipped. She’d already whispered to Jaime when she arrived that she wished it could have just been them tonight. From tomorrow, she wouldn’t be able to get away with coming here each night. They’d have to be more careful, now they’d both be on TV. And she wouldn’t be able to come on Saturdays. The last five minutes of each episode were filmed live from the house. 

After Selyse had been introduced, Shae, Gilly, Osha and Myranda had their moments. Having not paid a lot of attention to the photos when he’d first seen them, Jaime was alarmed to realise how young some of these girls were. Gilly couldn’t be more than out of her teens, and neither could Myranda. 

He knew his father had done this just to get his name back in the public, and hopefully make a good match for him, but were there really so few women his own age? He didn’t want to know what the public would think of him, having girls twenty years his junior compete for his hand. 

‘Well,’ Tyrion said, ‘there’s not much for you to worry about there. None of those women are worthy to be Jaime Lannister’s wife. The public will see that.’ Their dresses had been a little drab, and their faces a little plain. The best was Myranda, with her waterfall of dark hair and dark eyes, although there was something a little off in her expression. 

‘That Myranda girl isn’t too bad,’ said Bronn, once the first adverts started. He’d moved onto peanuts now, although luckily for the cleaning staff he’d stopped throwing snacks into the air. The floor was littered with pieces of popcorn. ‘What did she say she did?’ 

‘Her father owns the biggest pet store chain in the UK,’ Tyrion answered. ‘But from what I hear she also has a great career in the underground sex scene. Petyr agreed to her when he found that out. I expect the story will hit the media any day now.’ 

Bronn grinned. No doubt he’d be looking up Myranda’s number later, and keeping it in a safe place for whenever she got kicked off the show. He’d already asked Jaime if he’d mind Bronn ‘having a crack at whichever of them took his fancy’ after the show had ended. 

Jaime had shrugged. What did he care? 

He didn’t. He didn’t care when Ellaria Sand winked into the cameras, her introduction littered with sexual innuendo, or when Melisandre had a close up of her cleavage. He wasn’t bothered about Pia, or Jeyne or Roslin Fray who was so nervous she stuttered whenever she had to answer a question. 

‘Halfway there,’ Tyrion said. ‘Saving the best till last, obviously.’ Each time a new woman appeared, a small table of information flashed up next to her. Name, age, where they were from, some of their hobbies. 

‘I fucking hope so,’ Bronn said. ‘Twitter seems to be a little bored at the moment, although Selyse got their attention. There’s a lot of love for Ellaria, and they feel sorry for Roslin, but they’re more talking about her father than her. Everyone’s wondering who they’re competing for.’ He grinned again. ‘I can’t wait to see that.’ He scrolled down on his phone again, reading the new comments to himself. He’d been appointed to keep up to date with news about the show online. The Hound had laughed when they’d mentioned it to him. Tyrion barely knew how to text, which was why he’d always kept Bronn around. He was quick to pick things up, once they’d been explained but he was very firmly of the idea that technology was ruining everyone’s lives and refused to have any more dealings with it than needed. 

Pod was scrolling through his phone too, but whenever he had a down moment he was on it. And Tyrion had insisted this job be left to Bronn; Pod wouldn’t read them the messages that were rude, or insulting. 

Bronn would delight in them. 

The One was back, and there was a new sense of tension in the room. Everyone was waiting. 

If Cersei wasn’t the last one shown, if she wasn’t the big shock factor....there would be hell in this room tonight. 

A lean, startling pretty girl walked the pebbled path towards Varys. Her hair shone silver in the light from the candles that were surrounding the pathway to Varys, her violet eyes determined. She was graceful, almost cat like and she greeted Varys like an old friend, shaking hands with him. She was flawless as she answered questions, giving a tinkling little laugh now and again. 

‘Daenerys Drogo,’ Tyrion muttered, almost like the words had been pulled from him. ‘She’s one of father's picks, although I have no idea where he pulled her from. No one knows very much about her.’ 

‘Do they need to, when she looks like that?’ Bronn said. 

‘She’s not all that,’ Cersei bit out. ‘From what I hear she’s barely even talking to any of the other girl’s in the house. Just keeps to herself.’ 

‘And, let me guess, you’re the life and soul of the party,’ Tyrion said. He held his hands up in surrender before Jaime could give him the stink eye. 

The next woman to be shown was Missandei. She was nervous too, clutching the side of her dress, and then dropping it when she remembered she was on camera. 

There was a brief pause on screen, and then the camera panned backwards to fit the next woman in. Jamie raised his eyebrows. He’d only seen one other woman as tall as this, and that was... 

‘Brienne Tarth,’ said Pod. There was respect in his voice, and it almost sounded like he was announcing her. ‘She looks good on screen, doesn’t she?’ 

‘Do you need glasses?’ Cersei said. ‘She looks like the great lumbering oaf she is. I’ll pay you extra, Bronn, to keep her in, at least for the next week. Imagine how good I’ll look next to her.’ A harsh laugh escaped her as on the screen, Brienne Tarth tripped a little. Her head was down, and she looked like she was hunching in on herself, her shoulders held by her ears. ‘Doesn’t she, Jaime? Look like a lumbering oaf?’ A sharp elbow in his side. He knew the role he had to play. And it wasn’t like Cersei was wrong. Brienne was big. And lumbering. 

‘Yes,’ he said, the word dying halfway through. Brienne had looked up, into the cameras for the first time. A bright blue shone from her eyes, capturing his attention. 

He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, just look at her,’ he said. ‘I’ve met her before, haven’t I? She didn’t strike much of an impression on me then. I wonder what father was thinking. She’s not the sort of girl he wants me to end up with.’ He couldn’t quite recall when he’d met Brienne. A party. A dark room made even darker by the amount of drinks he’d had. He hadn’t known it was her from the photo; Brienne obviously wasn’t someone who photographed well. 

‘Once, I believe,’ Tyrion said. ‘I’m not sure you made the right kind of impression.’ Well, that wasn’t anything new. Jaime rarely made a good impression on anyone. Much less since he’d taken Aerys down. He played up to it, mostly. What was the point in trying to impress people who already thought they knew you? 

Much more fun to wind them up, and prove them right. That way they left feeling smug; people loved to be right. 

‘And as for father picking her, I don’t believe he did. I’m sure she’s one of Petyr’s picks.’ He frowned at the screen. ‘I’m not sure why he picked her. She wouldn’t tell me what her father’s business is, so it must be something not too high profile.’ 

‘If Petyr picked her, there’s a reason for it,’ The Hound said. Jaime almost jumped; The Hound could speak after all. And he sounded angry. 

The discussion had taken up all of Ygritte’s introduction and Ros’s was nearly over too. The older ginger woman smiled into the camera, like she was just oh so excited to be there. 

She had lipstick on her teeth. 

Talisa was next, and though she looked nice enough Jaime felt boredom edging in. Was this really the best they could do for him? Were these really the women his father wanted him to end up with? Pretty, plain girls with nice smiles and pleasant personalities? 

Did Tywin not know him at all? Even if this wasn’t all a fix, Jaime would never be with any of these girls. 

Yara Greyjoy was next. At least she seemed to have a little edge to her. As did Margaery Tyrell. Although she had the pleasant smile down to a T, you could see it in her eyes. They were too hard, seeking everything out, hiding a million secrets. 

Or was that just because he knew her? Jaime wondered. He’d met the Tyrell’s several times over the years, and Margaery and her Grandmother made him feel uncomfortable. Like they were judging him for things they weren’t even supposed to know about. 

Jaime leaned forward, catching his brother’s eyes as he did so. Tyrion widened his eyes a little. They were both preparing. 

Cersei appeared on the screen, her walk almost a glide as she sailed down the path to Varys. 

‘You look beautiful,’ Jaime said. 

‘I’m second,’ she hissed at him. ‘They’ve left that stupid little Stark girl till last, because they think she’s bigger than me. Oh, there will be hell to pay.’ 

‘How do you plan to do that?’ Tyrion asked, sounding amused. ‘You can’t go back in and demand Petyr make you last. You can’t admit you’ve seen the show. Petyr won’t like you blatantly disregarding the rules. He’ll punish you for it.’ 

‘I’d like to see him try,’ Cersei snapped. She stood up, going behind the sofa to pace. ‘Sansa hadn’t been seen in the media for years. Nobody cares about her.’ She flung an arm to the TV where the Stark girl had made her appearance. Her movements were a little jerky, but her nervous smile was something to behold. She’d grown into a fine young woman; someone her parents would be proud of. 

Jaime felt a lurch of guilt. It wasn’t fair to make her go through this. To make her compete for his hand. 

‘According to this they do,’ Bronn said, waving his phone around. He pulled it back to his chest quickly, noting the look in Cersei’s face. If she broke it, no doubt the Lannister brothers would replace it tomorrow, but he didn’t like the idea of being without it, even for one evening. He might need to use it later. Text one of his girls, see if they fancied a hook up. Staring at these pretty women all night had made him horny. ‘Everyone’s amazed. You’re trending too,’ he said. ‘You, Sansa, Margaery, Brienne, Selyse, and Ellaria. And Ygritte, but I think that’s more to do with a singer than anything else?’ He stared at his phone for a few seconds, before shrugging. ‘Fuck knows.’ 

‘Cersei, come sit down,’ Jaime said. ‘Watch the rest of the episode. You can’t get back at Petyr, and what does it matter? Nothing else matters, remember? Only us. And it will be us once these six weeks have passed.’ The tense lines in her face relaxed. 

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But one more slight by Petyr and I’m going to give him so much drama he’ll wish he’d never brought this show.’ 

They watched the rest of the episode in peace. The sick feeling came back to Jaime when they revealed his face to the women. The camera’s focused on each of the women’s faces, showing their reactions; some looked interested. Cersei looked like she was already in love, which was great, Jaime supposed, although he’d never seen that expression on her face when she actually looked at him. The Brienne woman wasn’t even looking at his face on the screen, but rather at the other women. She didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Neither did Yara, and Margaery had her arms around Sansa Stark who was weeping. 

They passed over her pretty quickly. 

‘Aye, I told you Twitter would go mad,’ Bronn said. ‘I can barely keep up. There’s a lot about how handsome you are. That’s good. Oh, a lot of people asking what the problem is. Asking if Sansa was crying. That story’s going to break at some point, and then everyone will know.’ He hummed to himself. ‘They seem to like the diversity of the women of the show. Saying they represent more average women than these type of shows usually have.’ He grimaced. ‘There is not a lot of love for you on here. Except for the ones who want to fuck you. You better hope you pull it out of the bag next week, or this is going to blow up in your dad’s face faster than you can say ‘The One.’ 

They watched the garden party in silence. There was Brienne with Pod and Tyrion, smiling. When she left, she gave a jerky little bow. Cersei laughed, and Jaime after a pause, did too. What kind of woman bowed? Maybe she was the oaf Cersei claimed she was. 

There was Cersei, onscreen now, with Bronn, them chatting about Jaime and how Cersei was so excited to get to know him. She could tell he was different from the men she usually attracted. 

There was more to come, but Jaime felt his brain slipping. It was too much to watch this fakery. To watch as Sansa titled her head to the side when one of the men asked her a question and blink like she didn’t understand them and then walk away. 

The scene went on, and he became aware that nobody was really talking about him. He was the elephant in garden. 

Nobody wanted him, but as far as they were concerned, someone was going to end up with him. A prize given to the least unwilling contestant. 

‘Oh, this is a good one,’ Bronn said. He opened his mouth to read a tweet. 

‘Please don’t,’ Jaime said. He stood up, gesturing for Cersei to take his hand. She did, and he pulled her from the sofa. ‘I’ve had enough. I’m going to bed. You can stay and finish the show if you like, but I won’t be watching. Good night.’ 

Then, pulling Cersei, he led her into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and going straight for her lips. She was real. The show wasn’t. 

They were real, and right now, that was what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is long, like 21,000 words all together. If anyone had any thoughts ie if you think I should split it, or if you'd like it all in one go then please let me know, because at the moment I'm torn about what to do!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! The general feeling was that I could post this chapter all in one go, so here you are! Hope you enjoy!

Brienne woke with a start, a scream from outside, startling her. Heart beating fast, she was up and out of her room before she’d even fully registered what was happening. Someone was in trouble, that was enough for her. She’d never been the kind of person to just walk on by, and not get involved. There was a natural instinct there; if she saw someone in what she perceived to be distress, she had to try and help them. 

A few other girls were peering out of their rooms, as Brienne walked the hallway, their hair mused, their eyes still half shut with sleep. 

‘What’s going on?’ asked Yara, as Brienne passed. ‘Did you hear someone scream?’ She seemed more awake than the rest of them, and after a split second she joined Brienne. 

‘It woke me up,’ Brienne said. She scanned the other rooms that she could see, but so far no one appeared to be missing. Only half the girls were on this level, though. They’d been spread across three floors of the house. 

‘I was already up,’ Yara said. ‘But I’m an early riser. Always have been. Something about watching the rising sun over the water, makes me feel set up for the day.’ 

‘I get that,’ Brienne said. She’d spent her fair share of time on an island, surrounded by water on all sides. She’d loved watching the sun rise too. ‘I usually get up a little earlier than I have been here, too. But that’s so I can get an hour in at the gym before everyone else arrives. You grew up near the water?’ They’d reached the top of the stairs now, and Brienne looked down, a little fearfully; there was nothing on the landing, so they continued down. The house felt almost peaceful with early morning light streaming though the big windows. 

‘Yeah. My dad grew up on an island, but he always said he was bored out of his mind, so he used to invent activities to keep himself amused. Games on the water, the kind that planted the water parks in his mind. He grew up, went to university, got his plans off the ground. Spent years travelling the world, and setting his parks up with his brothers, but then he met my mother. They moved back to the island, and raised me and my brother. She always said she wanted a life away from the big city for her children, and he loved her so much he gave her that. Plus, he could stay all day in his office if he needed to keep his mind active.’ Yara’s voice turned sad as they reached the bottom of the stairs. There were more women gathered in a small circle here. 

‘Did you hear someone scream?’ Melisandre asked. ‘Is everyone up there okay?’ Brienne scanned the group of women – this floor she knew only housed five of them, and they all seemed to be here. 

‘It’s nobody on our floor,’ she said. Her eyes strayed to the stairs. ‘Have you heard anything since? Maybe someone just burned themselves with the straighteners.’ 

‘I heard a thump,’ volunteered Gilly. ‘Sounded like it came from right below my room.’ Nobody moved. 

‘I’ll look,’ said Brienne. She went to the top of the stairs, and looked down, hurrying down them when she saw the rumpled heap at the bottom. Someone was down there. Lying in an odd position, their hair covering their face. ‘Hey,’ she said, rushing to their side. ‘Are you okay? Can you hear me?’ She put one of her large hands on a slender arm, a river of dread running through her. 

She didn’t think this woman was too badly injured. She could see their chest moving up and down, their hand gripping one of their ankles. 

It was the long curled golden hair that made her insides shrivel. 

‘Of course, I can hear you. I could hear you thundering down the stairs. I thought an elephant was going to find me.’ Cersei titled her head up. Her face wasn’t pale like Brienne had expected. She’d seen people take trips before, hurt themselves. Usually all the colour had drained from them. 

Cersei looked the same as ever, except she was wearing a finely stitched silk dressing gown. ‘Are you going to help me up or not?’ she demanded. 

Brienne stood, taking Cersei’s hand in hers. The other woman grimaced as she stood, then hoisted one of her legs into the air, so she was standing on one leg. ‘I can’t put any weight on it,’ she said. 

Brienne looped one of her arms around Cersei’s waist. She could hear that the other girls had started to file down behind her. They followed as she led Cersei to a large couch in their living room, lying her gently on the pillows. 

‘What happened?’ Ygritte asked. Everyone seemed to have been woken now, as they fanned out behind each other, looking at their injured party. 

‘I came downstairs to get some breakfast,’ Cersei said. She was breathing heavily, her hand still around her ankle. Brienne blinked. Hadn’t she been holding the other one when Brienne had found her? ‘As I got to the top of the stairs, I felt something hard in my back, and next thing I knew, I was on the floor.’ 

‘You felt something hard?’ Myranda asked. ‘Like what?’ 

‘Like a hand,’ Cersei snapped. ‘Someone shoved me down the stairs.’ Brienne took a step back. The accusing tone in Cersei’s voice was hard to miss. 

‘Are you saying one of us did it?’ Osha asked. 

‘Well, we’re the only ones currently in the house, aren’t we? The producers have to make their presence known, and one of us has to answer the door to them. There aren’t any cameras in here, because this is supposed to be our safe space. Really, it’s the perfect crime to try and get rid of the competition. Nobody will ever be able to prove it was you.’ 

‘Hey, wait, are you saying you think I did it?’ Osha said, her voice rising. ‘I was on the third floor, they can vouch for me,’ she said, nodding towards the others who shared the floor with her. ‘They all saw me in my bedroom.’ 

‘I’m not accusing anyone,’ Cersei said, although her gaze lingered on a few. The tension was building, as girls shifted from side to side or shuffled on their feet. 

Was there really somebody here who would do such a thing? Cersei, Brienne was pretty convinced, was a monster, and out to get what she wanted. 

But would anyone actually push her down the stairs to try and get rid of her? She gazed around at the women, all of them in their nightclothes. Some of them hadn’t even bothered to grab dressing gowns, just making their way downstairs in whatever they’d been sleeping in. 

They all looked so innocent. With no trace of make-up on their faces, with arms folded across their body to try and ward off the chill creeping through the house, they all seemed much younger than usual. ‘But somebody shoved me down the stairs, and mark my words, I will find out who it was.’ 

‘You really think one of us did it?’ Yara asked. 

‘I know I was shoved,’ Cersei replied. 

‘You know nothing,’ Yara said. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Ygritte broke in before she could. 

‘You know nothing, Jon Snow,’ she sang, pumping a fist in the air. When everyone turned to look at her, she glared back at them. ‘What? It’s like the law. If you hear that sentence you have to sing it.’ 

‘Excuse me, can we get back to talking about who shoved me down the stairs?’ Cersei hissed. 

‘We should get Petyr,’ Sansa said. ‘He’d want to know about this.’ She darted from the room. 

‘I suppose we should get dressed,’ Ellaria suggested. Her gaze was on Cersei, and filled with an intense dislike. There was obviously no love lost between them, either. ‘Petyr will no doubt want to get you checked out, make sure you’re okay.’ 

‘Of course, I’m not okay, my ankle is killing me,’ Cersei said. 

‘What a shame,’ Ellaria said. ‘And today of all days. If there’s anything wrong, you won’t be able to join in with the first task.’ 

There was a beat. 

‘Yes,’ Cersei said. ‘Isn’t that a shame?’ 

* 

‘Ladies.’ The twenty women turned, some of them stepping back to create a path for Petyr to walk down. He looked into each of their faces as he passed, and Brienne fought down a stab of revulsion. She’d never met him before this show started, but since the first time his eyes had met hers, she’d felt her skin crawl. The way he acted around Sansa wasn’t helping her like him any more either. She’d never really got it when her friend had talked about her parent’s friend who was a little creepy in the way he acted around her – but seeing them together, Brienne had promised herself she’d keep a closer eye on things. Sansa – as much as Brienne loved her – was still a little naïve at times, believing people when they said they were just trying to help her. She was little red riding hood, being followed by the big bad wolf, and Brienne was dammed if she was going to let this story end with Sansa being gobbled. ‘I’ll need to speak with you before the cameras start rolling,’ Petyr said. He paused in front of the double doors they all stood outside of. He slung back the coat he was wearing, taking a set of keys from his waist. 

Brienne hated theatrics. They all knew they were going into this room. They all knew what this room was. They all knew what the first task was going to be. Couldn’t they just get on with it? 

Petyr pushed the doors open, standing back and letting the girl’s step inside one by one. Even though he’d said he wanted to speak to them before the cameras started, Brienne knew they’d be filming their reaction. 

The building they’d all been huddled outside of, was a one level, specially built ‘den.’ This was where they’d film when the British weather prevented them from using the garden – today being a prime example. The sky overhead was grey, the clouds just bidding their time until they released their contents. 

This would be the room they were told the tasks in. The room they’d be interviewed in, to check how they thought their progress was going, and how they were feeling about the suitor. As the girl’s filed in, Brienne craned her neck, trying to take as much of the room in as she could. A giant couch took up the middle of the room, facing a massive TV. One corner had been roped off, where two red tub chairs faced a camera. There would be no privacy from the others if you wished to share your thoughts. 

Brienne let her gaze climb the walls, noting each little black camera she saw. Twenty-seven. At eye height, on the ceiling, even one on the doors they’d just come though, she realised. There was a mirror across the other wall, and she’d bet money they’d be filmed through that too. Her skin was starting to feel prickly. 

If they wanted the women to feel comfortable here, they’d done a poor job. Even with the plush grey carpeting, and the heating obviously turned up to full to starve off the chill from outside, this room felt like a stage. Here, they would have to act. They’d have to smile, and laugh with the others, school their features into the perfect mixture of shock and surprise as they learned of each task. 

‘Please, make yourself comfortable,’ Petyr said. He’d gone to stand in front of the TV and gestured to the sofa. ‘You’ll be spending a lot of time in here. If there’s anything you need, please just let someone know and we’ll see to it.’ Brienne moved to stand behind the sofa. She wondered if anybody would dare ask Petyr for something they found lacking. They’d be repercussions for asking she was sure. 

Although the sofa was big, it was pretty obvious that only ten of the women would be able to fit on it. Something to remind them they were disposable, and they’d be gone soon enough. The girls who found themselves lacking – Gilly, Talisa, Missandei and Roslin moved to stand too. The women who didn’t care – Ygritte, Yara and Osha – also stood. 

There was a brief ten seconds where the other women stared each other down. Cersei had already settled herself down, right in the center of the sofa, fiddling around with her skirts and making sure they were splayed out to full effect. When Margaery took a seat next to her, crumpling her dress a little, Brienne wouldn’t have been surprised to see a hole burn in Margaery’s head. Sansa took the seat next to Margaery, because it didn’t occur to her not to. Daenerys slipped into the final seat, crossing her legs and looking mildly interested at the commotion going on around her. 

Brienne, standing at one end of the sofa, couldn’t stop staring at the back of Cersei’s head. Her crown of blonde hair looked shiny and freshly washed. Her head was held aloft, like she considered herself above all this petty squabbling, although there was a hint of satisfaction as she watched Ellaria, Shae and Ros all argue about who would get to sit on the sofa. Myranda and Pia also seemed to be having their own fight. 

Brienne wasn’t entirely sure why she did it - maybe the thought of Cersei’s hair being a crown motivated her. Cersei held herself like she was royal, and entitled just because of her last name. Like resting on top of her head should be an actual crown. 

Not the bashed-up nose, freckle scattered, mop of blonde hair ugliness that Brienne was going to put there. It took her a few seconds to move behind Cersei, angling herself just so. They’d probably have to point the camera up a little to catch Brienne’s reaction. It would probably cut off Cersei’s cleavage. 

The thought made Brienne smile. 

Once Ellaria, Myranda and Pia had sat down next to Selyse and Jeyne, Petyr cleared his throat. All attention was on him. 

‘I’m sure you ladies have worked out by now that the first task will involve some form of exercise. I trust you’ve all picked your clothes for later today?’ There was a murmured agreement from the women. Brienne’s outfit flashed though her mind, and she felt herself flush. 

Maybe she should have thrown herself down the stairs, too, if it meant she didn’t have to wear hers. 

She froze at that thought. Cersei had been pushed. She might not be the nicest person, but she wouldn’t lie about something like that. Would she? 

Brienne couldn’t even finish the thought. Yes. She might only have known some of these girls for a week now, but there was no doubt in her mind about Cersei’s ‘accident’ this morning. Brienne was sure some of the other women would no doubt backstab, fight, and sleuth their way ahead...but Cersei, she was already sure, was the worst of the lot. Creating this tension between all of them, when they’d been getting on so well, was, Brienne had to admit, a genius plan. Girls who’d been slowly opening up were suddenly closed off again, questioning everyone. ‘In a moment we’ll see Jaime explain the first task to you all. Remember to act surprised. Joyful. Maybe a little disdain if it’s not your kind of thing.’ Brienne felt his eyes graze over her body, and she bristled. She might be large, but she wasn’t fat. Her body was muscle. 

She’d just have to prove it to him. ‘After the video has played, someone will tell you when you can go back to your rooms to change. You will have to be back downstairs in thirty minutes, or the taxis will leave without you. Once you arrive at today’s destination, Varys will greet you and explain the rest of today’s activities.’ Brienne hid a snort. Petyr Baelish in a place where working out was the main goal wouldn’t connect in her head. He was tall, but straight up and down, like a ruler. She imagined his cardio was thirty minutes on a treadmill each morning, before he pulled himself into one of his suits. ‘Due to the nature of Cersei’s injury, she will be travelling with you, but will not be taking part in the activities.’ At this, Cersei pushed her foot out from under her gown, exposing the bandage Sam Tarly – who seemed to be the only medic on staff - had wrapped it up in. 

‘I was so looking forward to it,’ she sighed. 

You could literally hear 19 sets of eyes roll. 

‘Good day to you ladies.’ Petyr swept a bow to them, then left them in the room. Ygritte had just opened her mouth to speak when the TV crackled to life, Jaime Lannister and Varys on a sofa appearing. 

They spoke for a few minutes, and Brienne tried really hard to concentrate, but her mind wandered. She couldn’t help but focus on the small details; the wallpaper behind them was a really nice grey colour, and she made a mental note to ask around and see if anyone could find the name of it for her; there was a book open on the coffee table in front of them, although she couldn’t read the title from here; Jaime’s face was a little sweaty, probably to make it look like he himself had just come from a boxing ring. She’d known in his hey-day it was one of his favourite pastimes, and she’d regretted never meeting him in the ring before. Everyone she’d fought had gone on about how good he was, how he could probably have gone pro if his father would have ever allowed it. 

She’d forgotten that she’d once wished to spar with Jaime Lannister. A throw away dream, to prove herself the best. 

Gilly, next to Brienne, shuffled a little, and Brienne brought herself back to the present. First task. Focus. 

‘A day at the gym,’ Jaime Lannister said. The tension she didn’t realise she’d been carrying leaked out of Brienne. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting the exercise to be – although she had briefly considered they’d be asking them to learn pole dancing, although she supposed the outfits for that would be even skimpier. Jaime was speaking about what he liked to do in the gym, kick boxing, weights. All the things Brienne could do in her sleep. 

She kept her face neutral as she listened to the rest of the video. She wasn’t stupid; she knew how her reactions would be perceived. Any smile would be for Jaime. Any blush for him, any joy would be because of the idea that she could actually end up marrying him. 

And she didn’t want to the be stupid, ugly girl with dreams above her station. Not to the entire watching public. Not for a few pity votes from people who felt sorry for her. She would be neutral, even when she got voted out on Saturday. If she didn’t give them anything to work with, they’d have an even harder time making it up. 

The video finished, the screen turning back, and Margaery clapped her hands, once. 

‘A day at the gym,’ she said. ‘Excellent. I’ve really wanted to have a workout. I feel a little cooped up in this house. I mean, I’m not the heaviest user, but I like to go a few times a month.’ She sounded just the right amount of excited; not too over the top, but not like she was acting either. 

She really should teach how to do this, Brienne thought. She could make even more of a fortune. 

‘What do I want to spend a day at the gym for?’ Osha grumbled. ‘I only go running if I need time to think. I’ve never even set foot inside a gym before.’ 

‘We can tell,’ Cersei said. 

‘Me neither,’ Gilly admitted. ‘I’ve always thought they’d take one look at me and refuse me entry.’ 

‘They’d take one look at your clothes and realise you wouldn’t be able to afford it,’ Cersei said. A couple of the women stood from the sofa, although no one headed towards the door. They had their orders. Chat until someone came to get you. Make this moment TV worthy. 

‘The only exercise I get is of the carnal variety,’ Ellaria said. She stretched. ‘It’s been two weeks. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m coping.’ She looked thoughtful for a second. ‘You know, if anyone else is suffering, my door has an open invitation policy. Maybe a few of us can work out together later.’ 

Laughter spread through the room, although a few of them gave her interesting looks. 

‘I’m not so bad,’ Ros said, flexing her muscles. 

‘My parents own a training centre,’ Missandei said. ‘Some of those things the guys who come to us go through are terrifying.’ 

‘Have you tried them?’ Ros asked. 

‘Not since I was younger. It’s a lot of endurance tests. Some people have called a few of them ‘akin to torture,’ but they’re just jealous.’ Her face was set, like she didn’t really agree. ‘And, anyway the boys who are sent to us are the worst of the worst. They come to be retrained.’ 

‘What is it?’ Ygritte asked. ‘I’ve never really gotten what it is you do.’ 

‘My parents do,’ Missandei said quickly. ‘It’s like an army course, I guess. Except you do it every day, in boiling hot weather, or thunderstorms and sometimes in heavy clothing and sometimes naked. We mostly get guys sent to us whose parents have tried everything else to get them to behave. A couple of prisons use it to reform inmates.’ She shrugged. ‘The army send us a load of guys to get them ready, too. It’s a little retraining and a lot of hard work.’ 

‘Do they get anything out of it?’ Ygritte asked. ‘Does it work?’ 

‘Mostly. You get the guys who refuse to take part, but they’re dealt with quickly and are usually running around by the next day. And as for getting anything out of it...’ she hesitated a moment before her lips quirked into a smile. ‘They come out with killer abs. Anyway, Yara, what about you? Are you a gym bunny?’ 

‘Please,’ Yara snorted. ‘Pay over the top prices to have someone tell you you’re not working to your full potential? My Uncle tells me on a daily basis. But I do a little kick boxing and I’m used to dealing with heavy equipment when the rides break. Unlike my family, I like to make sure everything is actually back in its place.’ She flexed one of her arms, and unlike Ros’s there was a bicep when she did it. 

‘Oh yes,’ Cersei said. ‘Yours was the park where the ride fell apart, didn’t it? Didn’t someone lose their arm?’ The others on the sofa stood, joining in the conversation. Cersei turned her head, a frown of annoyance across her face. Her eyes caught Brienne, standing above her. ‘Gods, don’t tell me you’ve been there the whole time.’ 

Brienne hid her smile, then turned back to the conversation. The double doors were opening, someone coming to usher them back to their rooms. As they trailed out, leaving Cersei to complain loudly that she needed somebody to help her to the air, Sansa spoke up. 

‘You think your lack of exercise might be an issue,’ she said. ‘I don’t even run for buses.’ 

* 

Brienne pulled her hoodie tighter around herself. Ten seconds. That was how long it would take for her to dash to one of the waiting taxi’s currently idling just outside the house. Nobody was watching. The others were taking every available second to make sure they looked their best, and they still had ten minutes of their allotted thirty left. If she ran from the doorway now, the only people around would be the taxi drivers. 

And all they’d see would be a big blur racing through the lightly misting rain. 

And even if they did see her, she amended, what did it matter? An entire nation – or at least 6.7 million, which according to Margaery was the number of viewers the first episode of The One had attracted – were going to see Brienne in this outfit. Saturday night, she’d be there for all their HD glory. 

There was a wolf whistle behind her, and face burning, Brienne whirled around, calming slightly when she saw it was only Yara walking down the stairs and coming to stand by her. Yara wasn’t making fun of her. 

‘And I thought I didn’t look half bad in this,’ she said, smoothing her hands down her skin tight leggings and sleeveless top. Yara’s had a black strip down the side. Each of the girl’s had been assigned a colour for today’s task – their trainers were all the same colour as their stripe. 

Brienne’s was an electric blue. The stylist had been annoyed, because they hadn’t been able to find a colour closer to her eyes. Brienne knew where they could find the same colour, but she kept her mouth shut. ‘Cersei is going to shit a brick when she sees you,’ Yara said. ‘Where the fuck have you been hiding them?’ She shook her head, her messy ponytail swinging. ‘Why the fuck have you been hiding them?’ 

‘I haven’t been hiding them,’ Brienne said. She felt a little better. Yara wasn’t one to sugar coat. If she thought Brienne looked alright, then maybe she did. She knew there was little she could do about her face, not if she didn’t want to spend an hour on make-up. 

But her body had always been good to her. Her top half, wasn’t special, too broad for most; wide hips, wide shoulders, small boobs. 

But her legs. Her legs were what made her 6ft 3. They were long, and they were toned. The black leggings clung to every muscle in them. She felt like it was a second skin, and she longed to peel it off. Wondered if baring them would make much of a difference, really; this material was very unforgiving. Every little lump and bump would be seen. ‘I just prefer trousers over skirts.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ Yara said. ‘Me too.’ The rain was starting to come down harder. Either she made a dash for it now, or she’d get caught in a downpour. She didn’t have an umbrella, and anyway, she wasn’t that fussed about a bit of water. It wasn’t going to kill her. ‘I’d get out of here before Ellaria sees you too. She’s not going to leave you alone.’ 

‘They’re only legs,’ Brienne dismissed. 

‘According to Ellaria she’s a legs and laugh women, or a smile and bum guy. She told me a guy’s smile can cause her knickers to fall off, just like that. Even in public.’ 

‘I really love the boundaries here,’ Brienne said. Yara laughed, then fiddled with the end of the top. ‘She seems pretty cool. I might go along to her room one of these evenings. See what she’s offering.’ 

‘You should make sure to get something out of this,’ Brienne said. ‘If you really don’t want Jaime.’ 

‘I don’t,’ Yara assured her. 

‘Wait. Didn’t Ellaria say she had a lover, back home? That the only reason she’d accepted this offer was because they were in a fight? Won’t he mind her...uh...extra-curricular activities?’ Brienne asked. Brienne, thanks to a disaster of a relationship, wasn’t a virgin, but she wasn’t the sort of person who talked about sex often, either. She’d only done it twice, before she’d found out the guy was doing it for a bet, and that had been enough to scar her for life. She would be single for ever, a fact she was happy about. Men were nothing but idiots, or trouble, she knew that for certain. She could only really talk about this kind of thing with Sansa, and she had her own issues. 

Although Sansa had at least had the best one-night stand of her life and still to this day got a little dreamy over it, even if she only remembered the fake name the guy had given her started with ‘R’. 

‘From my understanding, it’s a very open relationship,’ Yara said. ‘Very open, although most of their extra-curricular activities they do together. She seemed almost disappointed that she’d get nothing here.’ 

‘You didn’t tell her you were interested?’ Brienne asked. There were sounds of movement from upstairs. Any minute now the others were going to descend, and Brienne knew it would be shriek city as they dashed for the waiting taxis. 

‘Nothing is set in stone,’ Yara said. She yanked the door open, gesturing for Brienne to step through. She did, glad she’d brought her hoodie as she flipped the hood up. Yara hadn’t bothered with any outerwear, no doubt wanting the cameras to get the full effect as she emerged from the car in front of the gym. She did look good, Brienne admitted. The fabric would be a godsend for all the slender women here, sliding over their body like water in a bath. 

‘You should grab a car,’ Yara called to her as they pelted for the warmth of the cars, ‘I promised I’d go with Daenerys.’ She gave another wolf whistle, sprinting for the last taxi. Brienne made her way to the first one, slamming the door with a clunk behind her, and wondering about the friendships the other women were building with each other. 

For a second everything was quiet. The rain was shut off, the seat was warm, and she kept her eyes closed. One more second before she had to turn on again. One more... 

‘Move, move,’ someone shrieked as the door was opened again, the cold air coming inside with two bodies. Brienne moved to the far seat, shaking rain from her hands. They were lucky they’d chosen black for the clothes. Her grey hoodie was already flecked with rain smears. 

‘I’ve had to sacrifice the umbrella,’ Margaery announced mournfully. ‘But there’s no way I was standing in that for another second, without protection.’ The women looked outside the taxi window, where the pink umbrella stood out against the grey pavement, already filling with water. ‘I’m sure somebody will collect it.’ 

‘This was a terrible idea,’ Sansa said, throwing her head back against the car seat. ‘Remind me again why I’m here?’ 

‘You’re screwed if you leave?’ Brienne suggested. She was relieved that these were the two who had joined her. She’d had visions of Cersei climbing into the car, of having to spend a whole journey ignoring needling comments. 

Sansa clicked her fingers and pointed at Brienne. 

‘Yep.’ She could feel the two of them looking at her, and it wasn’t long before Margaery let out a wolf whistle, as the car started up, pulling away from the curb. 

‘You’ve got them out!’ she squealed. If it wasn’t for Sansa in between them, Margaery would be hugging her right now, she knew. Margaery was a touchy person; she liked to link arms, or put her head in your lap while you watched TV, or squeeze your arm for support. Nothing wrong with that. 

Unless you were like Brienne, who barely touched anyone and was always so shocked and aware of it whenever anybody did it to her. She’d been full of anxiety in school, when there were legs pressed up against each other under desks, or now when she accidentally brushed by a stranger. 

‘They’re not really out, are they?’ Sansa said. ‘Now if you let me put you in a mini-skirt, or any kind of skirt...’ 

‘I am not having this conversation again,’ Brienne said. She was glad they were here with her, but for one brief second, she wished she were alone. Before she’d come back to London for this show, she’d spent two years back on the island she called home. It hadn’t ever really been her home; they had a house there, it was true, and she’d spend summers and Christmas time there every year without fail. But her family had always lived in UK, in a house just on the outskirts of London. 

She’d needed a calm place to read through years of paperwork, and try to get a better understanding of her father’s business. Her father was prepping her to take over, she knew. And there was nowhere else she could spend hours at a time, on the private beach attached to their property reading about accounts, and mergers. 

‘Spoilsport,’ Sansa said. The stripe down her outfit was a light grey. Margaery had a deep gold one, the same shade of the rose on the Tyrell perfume bottle. 

‘Ladies, let’s not fight,’ Margaery said. ‘Not when we have a moment to talk about something we shouldn’t - the show!’ Her eyes lit up with excitement, and somehow there was now a phone in her hand. 

Brienne didn’t want to think about where she’d been keeping it. 

‘Grandmother’s been sending me photos and links to all the articles written, plus viral tweets and information.’ She scrolled through, still talking. The rain made it hard to see out the window, to judge the route they were taking. Behind them were the other six taxi’s. ‘She’s sent this one great article, all about how us women are linked to each other. There were some obvious ones; us three, Roslin and Gilly; apparently both their fathers are rockers past their sell by date, still hanging onto the outskirts by their fingers, with a whole litter of children running around. They’ve been seen at D list parties together, forced to smile together for the camera. Ygritte and Melisandre are apparently both big fans of Jon Snow; Melisandre kept that one quiet, didn’t she? According to this she runs his most visited fan account and talks about how great he is non-stop.’ 

‘Gross,’ Sansa said, ‘she’s old enough to be his mother.’ 

‘Only if it was a teen pregnancy,’ Brienne said. ‘I think.’ It was hard to pinpoint an age to Melisandre. Sometimes she looked young, and other times, wrinkles showed on her face and her body seemed to sag. When someone had asked her, she’d smiled coyly and refused to answer. 

‘This is the interesting part,’ Margaery said. ‘Did you know Osha used to be your brother’s nanny, Sansa? Rickon? According to this article she saved his life, and she’s here because your mother owed her a favour, so she asked Petyr to put her in one of his shows. I didn’t know you knew her.’ 

‘I don’t,’ Sana shrugged, peering at the phone screen so she could read for herself. ‘Rickon’s really young. I must have been at university.’ 

‘You didn’t know he almost died?’ Brienne asked, quietly. Sansa shrugged again. 

‘It’s almost a family tradition, almost dying. We Starks tend to do it a lot, although of course, it’s not actually nearly dying. Nothing serious, anyway. We said Robb nearly died when walked into that spiked railing, and all he needed was eight stitches. Dad nearly died when he choked on some food at a restaurant. It’ll be something stupid like Rickon fell in the fountain and could have drowned, but Osha pulled him out after a second. No big deal.’ 

‘Oh,’ Brienne said. ‘Right.’ Your brother almost drowning wasn’t a big deal. 

‘Oh, shit, Brienne,’ Sansa said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Sansa’s face had gone stark white, her hands over her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean...’ 

‘It’s fine,’ Brienne said. ‘I understand.’ They were passing Hyde Park now. The outside was a mess of umbrellas, and blurred raindrops racing each other down the car window. Lights shone all the way around, headlights from cars dancing in puddles on the roads. 

‘There’s an article talking about why we’re all in this contest,’ Margaery offered nervously. Or as nervously as she did anything, which wasn’t much. Her personality was confidence. She believed in everything she did. 

‘What do they have to say about me?’ Brienne asked, turning back to the conversation. She wouldn’t think about next week. She still had to be voted off this contest first before she could put any plans in action. 

‘Doesn’t know why you’re in here,’ Margaery said. ‘Isn’t that great!’ Brienne nodded. ‘You, Daenerys, and Ros have very little known about you. They haven’t even mentioned your father.’ 

‘Nobody ever does make the connection,’ Brienne said. The only thing her and her father had in common were the tall gene and the blue eyes. Still, if anybody put them together. It wasn’t like her father hid himself away. He was out there, larger than life. 

And, now she guessed so was she. It could only be a matter of time before someone figured it out. 

‘Lucky for you,’ Margaery said. ‘That’s all we need. Cersei would be spitting feathers – you'd take away all the limelight she’s getting.’ 

‘How much is she getting?’ Sansa asked. 

‘A lot. More than anyone else, but that’s what we expected.’ Margaery was so matter of fact about this. She sounded like she was discussing a business deal that had gone slightly sour. ‘A lot of articles talking about her past. Not much is really known about her, pre-Robert. She sort of just appeared on his arm one day, and this was before your entire history could be dug up online. Then she just became Cersei Baratheon and people stopped looking. This is turfing up a lot of dirt.’ 

‘Like what?’ Brienne asked. She was curious. Cersei seemed to have everything under her control. Even the whisper that she’d had a hand in Robert’s death was squashed. 

‘Just how her mother raised her alone. Nobody knows who her father was. She used to be something boring, like Cersei Smith, or Green, or just your average run of the mill. But somehow, she got into the best private school. Her mother was a nobody, there’s no way she could afford that, and records show that she was a paying member. No scholarship for her. Of course, the records don’t show who paid for her. Same with high school. Elite boarding school. No one remembers her or Robert speaking about how or when they met, just how they knew they wanted to be married soon as. Or, oohh, Grandmother sent me this great link. Someone went back and tried to find all the women who had affairs with Robert – you know, those who came forward and sold their stories? They could only track down two, and one of them was dead, the other living in New Zealand. All the rest of them – off the grid. Oh, and just if you were interested, the one who died, her son, Robert’s bastard, goes to school with your sister, Sansa.’ 

‘Small world,’ Sansa muttered. She’d taken her hands from her face, but she kept shooting little glances at Brienne. ‘Wasn’t there a rumour about her? Just after she left Robert? My father was really angry about it, said she’d been cheating on Robert for years, with some cousin and everyone knew.’ 

‘Oh, yes!’ Margaery said. ‘Lance wasn’t it? Lancel? Something like that anyway.’ She flicked a gaze to the window as the car pulled to a stop, before leaning forward and knocking on the plastic divider between them and the driver. ‘Excuse me,’ she called, as she slid it down, ‘are you sure this is the right place?’ 

‘This is where the sat-nav said to go,’ he said. ‘Thorn Gym.’ 

There was a cold fury in Margaery’s gaze for a split second before she masked it, and turned back to Brienne. 

‘Please don’t hate us,’ she said. ‘I have to tell you something, and I have to tell you quick because in a second we’re going to have this door opened and go pelting into what I’m pretty sure is my brother’s gym.’ 

‘Okay,’ Brienne said. She was worried now. What could they possible be hiding from her? 

A chill passed over her. This was all a joke. There wasn’t any show – or rather there was, but it was all a prank. They’d let Brienne get down to the last two and let her believe she was going to have to marry Jaime and then they’d pull the curtain back to revel another host, as music played and everyone laughed at her. 

‘You remember my ex-fiancé, Renly,’ Margaery started. ‘Who, funnily enough is Robert’s brother, although they never had anything to do with each other since Robert was already old and married when Renly was born and they met each other only five times in their life?’ 

Ah. So, this is where it was going. 

Renly Baratheon had been Brienne’s first – and to be truthful, only – crush. Deep, non-moving feelings that stayed with her through all her teenage years, even though he was a few years younger than her. He’d stopped a couple of guys from picking on her, at a party, before Brienne had learnt to do it herself, and talked to her the rest of the afternoon. She’d felt special. Like maybe she wasn’t as ugly as everyone always said. How could she be, if someone like Renly gave her his attention? She’d loved him since she was 12. 

They saw each other all the time. Their parents moved in the same circles, and they were always lumped together at the kid’s table. And then the teen table, where Margaery and Sansa had joined them. It shouldn’t have surprised Brienne as much as it did, when she was 19, and learned that Margaery and Renly had started dating. 

And it definitely shouldn’t have hurt as much as few years later when she’d heard the two had become engaged. 

‘I do,’ Brienne said. ‘I’m sorry. I never did ask what happened between the two of you.’ She hadn’t even wondered all that much. She’d only found out about it because Sansa had text her, but her father had had some emergency he’d asked for her help with and she’d put all other thoughts aside. 

‘My brother,’ Margaery said, stressing the first word. ‘I found them together.’ Her body sagged, and Brienne’s heart went out to her. She might have had an unrequited crush on Renly for years, but Margaery thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. ‘I’d had my doubts, obviously, you’d have to have been blind not to see some of the hints. But he’d always reassure me that he loved me, and I chose to believe him. He didn’t tell me that after I found them. He just made some bumbling apology, and left. They eloped a few months after. I haven’t spoken to Loras since. All my information comes from Grandmother. I did ask her not to, but she said she’d rather I hear everything from her than find out from someone else.’ 

‘Okay,’ Brienne said. ‘And why would I hate you for any of that?’ 

‘We didn’t tell you,’ Margaery said. ‘I thought you’d have seen it in the news – there were a lot of articles -, but when you never mentioned it, I figured it had passed you by. And I thought you’d be devastated. He’s married, officially off the market. Plus, I’ve always felt bad about dating him when I knew you liked him, but I couldn’t help myself. And now we’re about to step into my brother’s gym, and I have no doubt he’ll be there, too. I needed to prepare you.’ 

‘Margaery,’ Brienne said, taking the woman’s hand. She felt brown eyes examine her face. Brienne never reached out. Ever. ‘For one thing, Renly was off the market when he started dating you, if he was even on it in any sense before. For another, I may have loved Renly. In that all-consuming way that teenagers love anyone they fixate on. But I got over him, some time ago now. I’m just sorry for what you went though. Are you going to be okay?’ 

Her feelings for Renly, she was surprised to see had completely gone. She still loved him, but more like a friend now. She hadn’t thought of him that way in years. The space she’d carved out for him in her heart had slowly been filled, his name a faint scratch at the bottom now, barely visible. 

‘Petyr wanted drama,’ Margaery said, quietly. 

‘I’m going to kill him,’ Sansa said. It always slightly amused Brienne to see Sansa angry. She was small and full of righteous anger. 

Not that she’d want that anger turned on her. Ever. Her older brother, Robb, and father, Ned, had taught both Sansa and her younger sister Arya to fight. Sansa had little interest in it, but Brienne knew a few of the lessons remained. She’d go quick and in places you didn’t expect. 

‘I’ll be fine,’ Margaery said. She took one deep breath, then let a brilliant smile cross her face. ‘Come on, girls. It’s been an age since I’ve seen my brother. I’ve just been so busy; I haven’t been to his new gym yet. I can’t wait!’ She sounded perfectly gushy, her hands clasped together as the door opened, the cold air coming back inside with some force. There was a man outside, holding a giant umbrella, to escort them one at a time to the gym. 

‘If you want,’ Brienne said casually, as Margaery put a gold trainer onto the pavement below them, ‘I could always challenge your brother to a round in the ring, and kick his arse. That would look great on TV.’ 

‘You know,’ Margaery said as she hopped out. She turned back to them, her eyes now shining with what Brienne hoped was genuine warmth, ‘I would really like that.’ 

* 

Once all the girl’s had been escorted into the gym – and it took an age, as they had to come in one by one, escorted under an umbrella, nobody wanting to risk their outfits looking less than perfect – Varys appeared from a set of double doors near the back. The ground floor of the gym was given over to a huge boxing ring, and it was around here that several cameras stood. Brienne could see the marks in the ceiling where punching bags dangled – they'd been removed for today's purpose of course. She was sure the gym wouldn’t look this empty of exercise equipment usually. Or, if it was, then it was a terrible gym. She might not like Loras much, but he’d seemed to know what he was doing when it came to running a business. She knew he’d been prepped to take over the Tyrell Perfume line when he was younger, his Grandmother insisting on him going to university to get the relevant degrees. 

‘I like the name,’ she whispered to Margaery who was stood beside her. Margaery’s eyes were on the door labelled ‘staff only’, opposite them. ‘Thorn Gym.’ 

‘He thought it was funny,’ Margaery said, and if she was the type of person who rolled her eyes, she would be doing so right now. ‘Because he considers himself the thorn on the perfect rose. The slight blemish on the family name.’ 

‘Oh,’ Brienne said back. ‘I thought it was because he’s a prick.’ The sound that burst from Margaery was outstanding. Brienne had never seen the woman laugh before; not the gut busting belly laugh that exploded from her now. All the other girls turned to see what was so funny, some of them giving the pair a dirty look before facing forward again. 

‘Remind me again why we never hung out before?’ Margaery said. Brienne shrugged. There was the Renly thing of course, but the simple truth was she’d never thought her and Margaery would hit it off so well. Margaery was the kind of girl obsessed with make-up and clothes and gossip, and Brienne wasn’t. She loved Sansa, but sometimes found it difficult to be around her for too long. Their friendship was borne out of years spent together rather than bonding over mutual interests. 

‘Timing,’ Brienne said now. Varys was smiling around at them all, and the cameramen were holding up fingers to their lips, calling for silence. The gym was big, but with all the people crammed inside, it felt small. Cameramen, and soundmen. Sam Tarly was here too, reading something in a corner. There were other people lurking as well; Brienne thought they were producers too. She’d seen them have conversations with other girls before now. No doubt whispering Petyr Baelish’s words into their ears. 

It was only the first week. True, Brienne had had her wires crossed before now; she’d assumed five of them would be sent home during the first episode. They’d always done it like that on the US version and she hadn’t been paying much attention to all the contracts and details she’d been sent though. 

‘Ladies,’ Varys smiled around at them, and Brienne quickly schooled her face into the blank mask she was determined to wear, always. She liked to think she was pulling off a ‘causally interested, polite, friendly’ look. 

But she always liked to think she was ‘smizing’ when she got photos for her passport or driving license taken, and she usually ended up looking like a serial killer in those, who so knew what expression she was actually making. She wasn’t planning on watching the show once she got voted out, so she’d never know. ‘Welcome to Thorn Gym!’ There was a smart smattering of applause. ‘Now, I’m sure some of you have already guessed which of Mr Lannister’s favourite activities you’ll be taking on today,’ he gestured to the ring behind him. ‘But to clarify – today ladies, you’ll be fighting! Two of you will go into the ring, but one will emerge victorious! Now, we want a clean fight from all of you – no dirty tricks! We don’t anyone needing medical attention. Remember, this is all just a little bit of fun!’ He winked at them, indicating that actually a little bit of dirtiness wouldn’t go amiss. Not that any of them would want to injure the others, no matter what Cersei had tried to make them all think that morning. Nobody really wanted to get checked out by Sam Tarly. Brienne privately wondered if he even had any medical training. He always seemed nervous, and she’d seen him look a little green the other day when Talisa cut herself while making dinner. He was shaking as he applied the bandage and had to go and have a rest after. 

‘Now, for our audience at home, we do have some news,’ Varys said, turning to face another camera. ‘As you may have noticed, Cersei has had to sit down.’ Brienne craned her neck over the two rows of women in front. She could just make out the blonde crown around everyone else’s waist. She was right in the front, of course. ‘Unfortunately, due to an incident this morning, Cersei has suffered an injury which means she can no longer take part in today’s task. Don’t worry; she’ll be up and about in no time, ready to take on next week’s task, if your votes allow it! And she’s agreed to be today’s very own personal cheerleader, isn’t that right?’ 

‘Of course,’ Cersei said, her voice echoing around the room. ‘I hate that I have to miss today – I love nothing more than breaking a sweat. It’s a great way to deal with unhealthy emotions. I wish I could join in – I'm afraid sitting in the house all day had made me a little soft, and I was really looking forward to the chance to flex my muscles again.’ There was no sound from the other girls. If any of the rest of them noticed she’d practically stolen Margaery’s words they let it go. ‘But due to the incident this morning, I have been advised to keep weight off my ankle, so it’s allowed the chance to heal.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Ygritte breathed next to Brienne. ‘At her age who knows how brittle her bones are.’ The back row of women all got smiles on their faces at once. It would look great on camera – all of them smirking at perfect princess Cersei’s injury. 

‘Would you like to tell us what happened?’ Varys asked gently. 

‘I wish I knew,’ Cersei said. She paused for just a moment. ‘One minute I was at the top of the stairs and the next I was at the bottom. Who can say how it happened?’ She’d made it sound like potentially it could have been an accident, but left enough room that people would wonder if it had been done on purpose. She was good. She could work an angle, that was for sure. 

‘Well, I know everyone is wishing you a speedy recovery,’ Varys said. ‘And now to our other ladies; we’ve paired you up. Two at a time you will enter the ring and fight. The winner will be declared by two judges; either when one of you remains on the floor for more than three seconds, or when the match has been going on for five minutes.’ Nobody else seemed to have noticed the weird mix of wrestling and boxing rules that were being thrown around here. Whatever made good TV Brienne supposed. And it would make good TV. Watching the women literally fight over Jaime Lannister. 

She wondered if she could just stand there and let whoever she was up against punch her. All these women were, if not a lot shorter than her, then definitely way below her weight range. And if Cersei was out of the running anyway... 

She raised her hand like a kid in school, fighting to keep her blush at bay as Varys turned his attention to her. 

‘Yes? Brienne, isn’t it?’ He was still smiling, and she felt like she’d been caught in a trap. Like he was about to open his mouth wide and swallow her whole. 

‘Yes,’ she said. She cleared her throat. She was Brienne Tarth and she would not be made to feel like an idiot for asking a question. ‘Since Cersei is out of the running, doesn’t that leave one of us without a partner?’ 

‘How very fitting that you should be the one to ask,’ he said, smiling. ‘We have a few other surprises up our sleeve for you ladies today.’ 

So, she was the one without a partner. Well, if she was going to take on Loras, that wouldn’t be so bad. There would be a fight there at least. And who else would they get? Unless they’d managed to get a famous boxer or wrestler to come and film for the day, and Brienne wouldn’t put anything past Petyr Baelish. Even then she’d probably be able to hold her own, at least for a while. 

And if she couldn’t, well. She wasn’t above folding and letting everyone believe she was a shitty fighter. She’d rather that than the possibility of ending up injured. ‘I won’t be the only one watching you today.’ It was a very weird thing to say in a room surrounded by people, but the effect was for the audience at home. They wouldn’t see the crew members who the women were ignoring every time one of them ran back and forth to get another angle, or replace a cable or whatever else it was they were doing. ‘Please welcome the F&F of Jaime Lannister!’ 

The double doors opened again and in trooped Tyrion, Pod, Bronn and The Hound. Brienne’s palms were sweating. Varys had said it was fitting that she was the one to ask. That meant she would be the one without a partner. They weren’t going to make her fight Loras, and it wasn’t going to be Tyrion. She wouldn’t be put in a ring with Pod, although she wished she would be; that would be easy enough and he’d seen enough of her teaching to know her fighting style well. He could probably hold his own, at least for half a minute. 

‘Ladies, we’ll get you fitted with gloves, meet the judges and then I’ll let you know who you’ll be fighting.’ Varys was smiling like he’d never been anywhere more exciting. Brienne knew a lot of men would be glad to see 19 women fight it out, but somehow, she didn’t think Varys was one of them. There’d never been any mention about partners of either sex. He just didn’t seem interested, in anyone. There weren’t even rumours about his sexuality floating around. He seemed to be an entirely sexless human being. 

The F&F had slotted into a small bench along the side of the ring. Cersei was being led to join them, hopping along, wincing every time she had to place her wrapped up ankle on the floor. 

They were given gloves; which Brienne wasn’t surprised to see matched the colours they’d obviously spend the next few weeks associated with. Brienne’s were blue. But they were large, and fitted well, and she could tell, expensive. 

Once they were all suited up, chairs were brought out for them. They were to observe each match, cheering their friends on, creating an even greater divide between the group as you wished for ten women to fail. 

‘And now, please welcome the judges. Hopefully they won’t be needed much, since I know almost all of you have it in you to give us a good fight, but just in case; please welcome, Mr Loras and Renly Tyrell-Baratheon, the owners!’ 

Applause was expected, but the women had their hands encased in gloves. The four F&F and Cersei brought their hands together. If Cersei remembered that Renly was technically her brother in law, she didn’t show it; and why would she? She’d never even met the guy. 

Every camera was trained on Margaery. A smile lit her face, as she rose, darting over to her brother, and tacking him into a hug. 

‘Loras! Oh, it’s so good to see you! It’s been so long!’ A breathy little laugh left her, and Brienne relaxed her tense shoulders. Petyr was picking on the wrong person if he thought he could get to Margaery. Family meant everything to the Tyrell’s. 

‘Really?’ Loras asked. He’d shaved his blonde curly hair, and Brienne had to admit the look suited him. He looked older. More mature. 

Brienne tuned out the conversation between the siblings. She took a deep breath, then let her eyes travel over to Renly. It had been two years since she’d last seen him, and she steeled herself for the rush of emotions that usually came. 

They didn’t. Her heart beat stayed the same. Her face stayed white, no deep red blush spreading to give her feelings away. 

She felt nothing, and she almost laughed with the relief. No matter what she’d told Margaery she’d been prepared for some sort of lingering crush to remain, some trace to reappear once she laid on eyes on him. 

She was just glad to see an old friend looking well. And he did. His face had usually been schooled into politeness when he was with Margaery. Now, with his husband by his side, their hands linked, he looked happy. 

A pang did go through Brienne, but she squashed that. She was fine on her own. She did not need a man to make her happy. 

But, she thought, not quite being able to kill the thought, it might be nice to experience just a little piece of love. Just once. 

Margaery slipped back into her seat, turning to smile at Brienne when Varys spoke up again. He sounded just as he had earlier, but Brienne thought there was a disappointment behind his eyes. No doubt Petyr would want word of a feud. Maybe a slap. 

‘First up,’ Varys said. The room had grown silent as the women tensed, each braced to hear her name and the person she was up against. 

Brienne wasn’t. She could almost see what was coming; and she knew she’d be left till last. 

‘Daenerys vs Missandei.’ The two women stood, each making their way to the ring. Varys went through a whole speech about the rules, and Brienne settled into her seat. This was going to be a long day. 

Daenerys and Missandei seemed evenly matched at first. Daenerys landed a good couple of punches, but Missandei was quick, dodging more, and catching Daenerys in her stomach. The fire that seemed to glow in Daenerys's eyes dimmed, until there was a grudging respect there. With a minute to go, it looked like Missandei had the upper hand – Daenerys was crouched in a corner, arms over her head as Missandei approached. Her parents had obviously taught her a few things, but as she went give the final punch, Daenerys slipped past her, then kicked her legs from underneath her. She was on Missandei before anyone else knew what was happening, and then Renly and Loras were calling her the winner, and everyone was clapping. 

As they left the ring, towel's around their shoulders, the two girls shared a smile. Daenerys was looking the happiest she ever had. 

‘Ros vs Ellaria.’ The women stood in the ring, seizing each other up. Ellaria kissed her biceps before lunging for Ros, grabbing her head between her gloves and spinning around the ring. Ros was shrieking, and hitting her wrists feebly, but the effect was lost slightly by the laughter neither of them could contain. Ros broke free, seeming stunned to be standing upright, before going for Ellaria, and chest bumping her into the side of the ring. They weren’t the only two laughing now. Tyrion was standing up on the bench, cheering, and asking Pod if he’d like to take bets. Both women were collapsed on the floor, Ros draped over Ellaria. There were tears rolling down their faces. 

‘Mercy, mercy,’ Ellaria called out. She grinned as Ros hauled her to her feet. ‘Good game.’ They shook hands, leaving the ring together, even though nobody had officially said their fight was over. They hadn’t even broken a sweat. 

‘Osha vs Myranda.’ They both had daggers in their eyes as they took their stands in the ring. This would be interesting. The women flew at each other, each of them trying to land a punch on the other, and blocking their bodies at the same time. Osha swept Myranda's legs out from under her, then crawled on top, but Myranda, showing a strength nobody knew she possessed, flipped them over, then jumped up escaping Osha’s scrambling legs. 

‘A good clean fight, remember ladies,’ Varys called from the edge of the ring, although he didn’t sound very sorry they weren’t following the rules. Osha’s hair was sweaty and tangled as she leapt at Myranda, missing and rebounding off the ropes around the edge. With a hiss, she used her teeth to tear one of her gloves off, then ran at Myranda, clutching the girl by the strap of her top. Myranda growled, tearing her gloves off too, and grabbing Osha’s head. 

‘Ladies, Ladies,’ Varys said, looking a little scared now. He met Loras’s eyes and nodded at him to get involved. 

Loras pretended not to see. 

‘Get off me,’ Osha yelled, stumbling away as Myranda pushed her, then darted to the other side of the ring. With a roar, Osha grabbed the back of Myranda’s clothes, pushing her to the floor then sitting on her back, pleased with herself. 

At the last second, Myranda, using the same move she had earlier, flipped Osha onto the floor, pinning her wrists to the ground and staying on top of her this time, till Loras clapped and declared the fight over. The applause was scattered, and Brienne was disgusted to see Bronn Blackwater thoroughly enjoying himself, a giant smile on his face. There was a small pile of money on the ground in front of the F&F, and he plucked a few notes from it. 

‘Well, after that intense workout we have Talisa vs Jeyne,’ Varys said. Osha had been ushered to Sam Tarly a snarl on her face as he checked her over. Myranda had retaken her seat, smoothing her hair back down and smiling like she’d done nothing more than deal with a small, angry animal. 

Talisa and Jeyne took their place in their ring. Maybe they didn’t want to be called out like the last pair or maybe it was because neither of them had any idea how to fight, but they used up the entire five minutes, swinging punches that missed each other and darting to the far comer of the ring, and then darting back again. 

Neither of them had broken a sweat when they left the ring. 

‘Roslin vs Pia,’ Varys called. The two women stood, then made their way to the ring. Roslin was shaking, holding her fists up, but close to her chest. Pia, Brienne could see from here, was rolling her eyes, already bored. 

The fight took ten seconds, as Pia rushed Roslin, who stood her ground for as long as she could manage before folding to the floor, and waiting for the winner to be announced. 

‘Selyse vs Melisandre.’ Brienne sat forward in her seat. This should be interesting; Selyse seemed to despise Melisandre, giving her dirty looks when she thought the others weren’t looking. 

‘Grandmother sent me an article about this too,’ Margaery whispered to Brienne. They weren’t wearing mics today. There were enough around the gym to pick up their conversations, but she guessed they wanted to focus on the action, not the reactions. Plus, mics would get tangled up in the fights, and attaching them to every woman and then removing them just to put them back on would take a lot of time. ‘According to resources, about fifteen years ago Melisandre had an affair with Selyse’s then husband. He left her, took their daughter and that’s when she went off the rails and lost all her modelling contracts. It must suck to try and relaunch yourself, when your looks have faded and the woman your husband left you for still looks like that.’ 

Brienne murmured her agreement, but she couldn’t stop wondering about how far Petyr had gone to cause all this drama and tension between the contestants. Was this really what made good television? Having a bunch of women filled with hatred and putting them in situations where they were forced to confront the source? For a dating show? Nobody was supposed to care about these women’s lives; they were supposed to wonder how good a wife they’d make for the suitor. 

As soon as the nod was given for the fight to start, Selyse launched herself at Melisandre, wrapping her legs around the other woman’s waist as she pelted her head with blows. 

‘Get off me you crazy -,’ the rest of Melisandre’s sentence was muffled. She spun, changing direction mid turn, and Selyse slid down her a little. 

‘I’ve been wanting to do this for years,’ Selyse screamed. Melisandre turned again, and Selyse was dumped on the floor; it didn’t take long for her to be up again, running with her head down and catching Melisandre in the stomach with her head. 

‘Can you do something?’ Melisandre called out, holding her stomach. 

‘Um,’ Loras stepped forward, but a small shake of the head from Varys stopped him. They were paying well to use the gym for the day and the exposure would be great. And it was unlikely they’d let a contestant actually die. 

‘Fine,’ Melisandre growled. She took a leaf from Osha’s book, discarding her gloves and throwing them to the floor. When Selyse made her next attack, running and aiming for her middle again, Melisandre caught her head in her hands, letting Selyse run on the ground. She kicked out at the former model’s ankles, causing her to bend to her knees. 

‘You’ll pay for that!’ Selyse shouted. Brienne found herself standing up as everyone else did, all of them staring at the two women in the ring. Someone should stop them. But unless Brienne wanted to get into a fight before getting into the ring, she knew she’d never make it. Producers would stop her, blocking her way, and she didn’t want to actually punch someone in the face. She’d be kicked off the show for that. 

The pile of money in front of the F&F had grown larger, and Brienne was disgusted to see a cameraman, Ramsey Bolton, had sidled up to them and was taking part in their little game too. His camera was pointed steadily at the women in the ring, even while he cheered, a look of utter glee on his face. He’d looked like that during Myranda’s and Osha’s fight too, and he’d applauded wildly when Myranda won. He’d always creeped Brienne out, but she was starting to wonder if she just got that vibe from everyone who worked in TV. She couldn’t think of one person she’d met behind the scenes so far who had her full respect. 

Melisandre now appeared to have Selyse in a headlock, but there was nothing funny about this one. They weren’t spinning around and laughing, but rather Selyse appeared to be choking, still kneeling on the floor. Her arms were still flailing around, though, trying to punch and pinch any part of Melisandre’s body she could reach. 

Brienne’s fellow contestants weren’t cheering any more. Rather they looked sick, some of them turning their faces away from the scene in front. Tyrion was opening and closing his mouth like he wanted to say something but couldn’t, and Pod was staring at the ground. Nobody was going to speak up. 

‘This isn’t fun anymore,’ Brienne said across the room, her loud voice carrying over the sounds in the ring. ‘Can’t you just call it? It’s been longer than three seconds, and everyone can see Selyse isn’t getting out of that any time soon.’ She kept eye contact with Loras as she spoke. He was the judge calling out the start and declaring the winner. Renly was hanging back a little. He was only there for show. 

He was only there to try to rile Margaery. 

‘Melisandre wins,’ Loras called out, relieved. He obviously didn’t like taking instructions from Brienne, but since she was the only one talking sense, there really wasn’t any option. 

The two women in the ring were still going at it; they weren’t going to stop until somebody made them. 

‘Oh for goodness’s sake,’ Brienne huffed. She was about to start walking, to take herself into the ring and force them apart when Renly did the job for her. He marched to the women, gently pulled Melisandre’s arms from Selyse’s neck, then held Selyse back when she tried to charge the red head again. 

‘You need to see the medic,’ he said quietly. ‘The fight is over. Come on.’ With a gentle tug, he pulled Selyse from the ring, letting Loras take his hand and help both of them down. Sam came to take Selyse, who’d started weeping, putting an arm around her and quietly asking her questions as he led her out of the room. 

‘Well,’ Tyrion said. ‘That was dramatic.’ Scattered laughter peppered the room, but Brienne remained stony faced. There was nothing funny about that. They’d let it go on too long, for the sake of drama. Would they even be able to show all of that on TV? Not without getting a lot of heat from it, she knew. Times had changed. People didn’t want to see that now days. 

She could feel the gaze of The Hound, and Ramsey, and Varys on her, but she refused to look at any of them. They were all as accountable as everyone else who had stayed silent. She couldn’t care less if she’d ruined their fun. 

No doubt they’d have some more when it was her turn. 

She settled back into her seat, surprised when Melisandre appeared in front of her. 

‘I wasn’t trying to hurt her,’ she said, her accent even more pronounced as sadness throbbed though her words. ‘But she was coming at me, and she wouldn’t stop. I had to defend myself.’ 

‘I know,’ Brienne said. ‘I don’t blame you.’ She stressed the last word, and didn’t bother to lower her voice. She’d had to go through a mental health evaluation to get onto this show; she’d assumed everyone else had too. She blamed whoever let Selyse through, and whoever let her share a house with Melisandre, and whoever thought pairing them together would be a good idea, and those men closer to the ring who could have stopped it sooner, but hadn’t. ‘It was a crappy situation.’ 

‘You can say that again,’ Melisandre said. She pulled her empty chair from the row in front, and settled in front of Brienne. ‘I knew she was just waiting for her chance and they handed it to her on a silver platter.’ 

Melisandre looked tired. Her ponytail had come loose, strands falling around her face. Her stripe and trainers were a dark red, that matched her hair perfectly. 

‘Are you okay?’ Brienne asked. Melisandre was still clutching her stomach. ‘Do you need to see the medic too?’ 

‘No, I’ll be fine,’ Melisandre said. ‘And I’m not sure Sam would be able to help. He’s a sweet boy but I’m pretty sure he knows nothing.’ 

‘You know nothing, Jon Snow’ said Ygritte, as she passed them, pumping her fist into the air. ‘Sorry, habit.’ She winked as she took her place in the ring. Brienne glanced up – Gilly was shaking on the other end, hands held rigid by her sides. 

She hadn’t missed Melisandre mouthing ‘you know nothing’ at the same time as Ygritte, and remembered what Margaery had told them earlier, about Melisandre running Jon Snow’s biggest fan site. 

‘If you’re sure you’re okay for the next couple of fights, I can take a look at you when we’re back at the house,’ Talisa said, turning in her chair. ‘I am a trained nurse. I’ve got a little medic kit back in my room.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Melisandre said. ‘That would be kind.’ 

Brienne turned her attention back to the ring. She’d vaguely heard Ygritte complaining that it wasn’t fair – Gilly was obviously terrified, and she didn’t want to hurt the poor girl. 

‘Just do it,’ Gilly said. ‘Get me down on the floor as quick as possible and get this over with.’ She shut her eyes, scrunching her face up, before placing a trembling arm around her stomach. 

Ygritte signed, then readied her fists, flying at her and sliding across the floor of the ring with her, pinning her to the ground. 

She was declared the winner three seconds later, where she helped Gilly up, brushing the dust and dirt of her arms as they walked back to their seat. 

‘Well, at least mine was painless,’ Ygritte said. ‘After what I’ve witnessed today, I’m not going to wish for anything more.’ 

‘Yara vs Margaery,’ Varys said. Loras and Renly cheered from the side, and there was a brief discussion from the F&F before two piles of money were slapped onto the floor. 

‘I thought you were supposed to be the judges?’ Yara asked Loras as she walked past him, ducking into the ring. ‘Seems like an unfair advantage.’ 

‘Oh, I don’t need nepotism to win,’ Margaery said, flashing Yara a smile. ‘I’ll beat you fair and square.’ 

Yara answered with a grin of her own, both the girls taking their starting positions, fists held close to their chests. 

Yara got the first hit in, when Margaery ducked trying to avoid the fist coming at her face only to be caught by one in her stomach. Yara backed up to the ring edge, taking her out of the way of Margaery’s punches, crouching to avoid them, then taking a roll past Margaery’s legs. 

She hopped up behind Margaery, who spun around fast, catching Yara with an upper cut to her jaw. A cheer went around the room, as Margaery boxed Yara into a corner, landing punch after punch on her. 

The fight looked good, Brienne knew. There was plenty of action, and Yara was wincing in the right places. When Yara got another punch in and rolled once again away from Margaery, Daenerys and Missandei stood on their chairs to cheer for her. They even started a little rhyme and dance at one point. 

But, and Brienne smiled to herself as she noticed, the two girl’s weren’t actually fighting. Neither of them were throwing any force behind their punches, instead controlling them, so as to land a feather light touch on the other’s body. They both had to keep looking away from each other’s faces as their eyes met and laughter threatened to overtake them. They chased each other to the side of the ring and back, ducking and rolling, landing punches – at one-point Brienne swore that Yara turned her body slightly to the right to make sure one of Margaery's punches landed, before twisting and grazing her upper arm. 

Renly met her eye from across the room, and she couldn’t stop the smile on her face; by the spark in his, she thought he’d seen what they were up to as well. She knew he’d been trying to catch her eyes since she’d entered the gym, but she had avoided him. They hadn’t spoken for years, her trying to put distance between them. Talking to him while he was with Margaery was like rubbing salt into wounds that hadn’t healed, a great big space between them that she could never quite fill with small talk. 

She’d missed his friendship. Renly was quiet, but they shared the same sense of humour. She missed the small huff of air he’d make when he found something funny, or when somebody did something and she could tell they’d had the same thought. She missed having someone to talk about her life with, logically. Sansa was great, she was, but she was flighty, and had a lot of other people to deal with in her life. Renly had always made her feel like she was the most important person, at least at that moment. He was kind and strong, and Brienne had latched onto his kindness in a world that had had rarely shown her any. 

The bell went off then, signalling the end of the fight. Both girls were still on their feet, both of them heavy breathing, fists still raised. Loras called the match, a thin veil of disappointment in his voice as he watched his sister shake hands with Yara, their gold and black gloves discarded on the floor, before they ducked out of the ring. 

One more fight, and then it would be Brienne’s turn. She let her eyes skitter away from the F&F. She could almost picture the words that would be spoken soon. She would remain calm. She wouldn’t show herself up, no matter who they threw at her; her earlier plan to just go down was slipping from her grasp. She had to go down fighting, even if they gave her someone who could do some real damage. Her father hadn’t taught her how to fight, or let her teach those self-defense classes for nothing. 

‘Sansa vs Shae,’ Varys said. There was no earpiece on him, no cards in his hands, and no auto cue for him to read from. He’d memorized the matches, and nobody told Varys what to say. He’d been doing this job for years; and Petyr, for all his faults obviously trusted him to do a good job. 

As the final two girls took their places in the ring, Brienne’s stomach gave a lurch. If things had gone to plan, she’d be fighting Cersei next. A kind of peace settled over her. She wouldn’t know how to fight Cersei. Her hits were direct, and Cersei, for all her tallness, looked like one punch would break her bones. Brienne was pretty sure she could snap her like a twig; her arms were slender; her waist was about as thick as Brienne’s thighs. She couldn’t have a proper fight with Cersei, and she was almost grateful the other woman had hurt her ankle this morning. She had visions of Cersei going down as Brienne aimed a punch, screaming that she’d been hurt. Brienne would probably be hauled off the show, disgraced in front of the nation. At least whoever they had lined up for her, she’d be able to hit. 

‘Well played,’ she muttered to Margaery as the brunette slipped back into her seat next to Brienne. 

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Margaery smiled, taking a long sip from the water bottle under her chair. ‘Yara fought well.’ 

‘Yara acted well, you mean,’ Ygritte muttered from the other side of Brienne. ‘Honestly, I know they wanted drama but literally pitting us against each other? Seems a bit on the nose. And who chose these pairings anyway?’ 

‘Petyr,’ Brienne and Margaery said together. Sansa was in the ring, her fists up, a wary look in her eyes. Shae was staring daggers at her for some reason. As far as Brienne knew, the two women had never really had anything to do with each other. 

Then Shae’s eyes flickered over the side to Tyrion who was too busy checking his phone to take much notice of the girl’s in front of him. 

The bell rung, signalling the start of the fight, and Brienne pushed her chair back to watch. Shae had hatred in her eyes, and determination. She wanted to prove herself to Tyrion. If it was for his benefit or to prove she was worthy of his brother, Brienne wasn’t sure; but it didn’t really matter. 

Shae was out for blood. 

Shae went straight for Sansa, who blocked her punch, stepping backwards and out of the way. She might not have enjoyed the fighting lessons her father had made her attend, rolling her eyes and asking if it was really necessary for her to know how to defend herself, but something had stuck; and Sansa wasn’t stupid. Shae was heavier than her, although not by much, but with this kind of focus on winning, there was little Sansa would be able to do to beat Shae. 

The women ducked and dived, Brienne wincing every time a hit landed on Sansa. She was sloppy, too, her years of non-practice showing in the slowness of her punches. Sansa seemed to know it was over too; she retreated from Shae’s punches, cowering in a corner, arms above her head. 

Shae tugged her gloves off, her fingers grabbing for flesh. 

Brienne wanted to shout out, but she wouldn’t be heard over the others. Everyone was shouting at Varys now, telling him things had gone too far; Shae had won. 

‘Alright, ladies, that’s enough,’ Varys said, and Loras rang the bell, before marching into the ring and pulling Shae off Sansa. A gasp went around the room; there was a string of blood running down Sansa’s face from a cut on her cheek. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Shae said. She did look a little shamefaced, but her chin was jutting forward like she couldn’t possibly allow herself to show her guilt. ‘I got a little carried away.’ 

Her eyes were on Tyrion again, but she was out of luck. He had eyes for no one but Sansa as he rushed to her side, helping her climb from the ring and over to Sam. They’d known each other for years, and he’d made no secret of the fact he at least felt bad about what his family had done to the Starks. He was always gentle with Sansa, treating her with a respect he rarely showed anyone else. 

‘Maybe, just a short break while we get Miss Stark cleaned up,’ Varys said. He hurried off to a side room, pulling a phone from his pocket, no doubt to call Petyr and tell him all about it. 

Maybe Shae would be the first to go. 

There was a clattering as chairs were pushed back so the women could stretch their legs for a few minutes. The ones who had fought, were relaxed now, their parts over. They no longer needed to perform. 

A few of the others came up to wish her luck but none of them seemed to have realised that with Cersei out of today, the person she’d be fighting was still a mystery. 

Until the figure herself came gliding over to Brienne, her bad ankle dragging along the floor behind her. Cersei probably thought she was going for the elegant look, but she seemed rather like a cat dragging a half dead rat in by it’s tail. 

‘You do realise that if I’d still been in good health it would be me and you fighting next?’ Cersei said. She was clutching the ropes of the ring which Brienne had gone to stand next to, hoping for an up-close look of the floor. It was smaller than she’d thought from the outside, and the ropes appeared sturdier than they had when bodies had been flung into them. 

‘I doubt it,’ Brienne said, puzzlement in her words. ‘They seem to want actual fights and me taking you down would have taken all of thirty seconds.’ She glanced at Cersei, noting the scowl becoming deeper on her face. ‘Sixty, then. I’ll bet you fight dirty.’ Cersei may have been expecting some wilting little wall flower, but Brienne could do one on one. She wasn’t going to let whispers and snide comments made so only she could hear them get her down; she’d had to put up with them her whole life. People who were trying to impress their friends by picking on the ugly girl, because coming up with an insult was just oh so easy. She’d had a nanny once who’d told her all those things, every day and she’d hardened her heart against the words a long time ago. 

Plus, Cersei wasn’t actually doing this to be personal. Brienne had heard her snide comments at all the other women this morning; she was trying to make them all feel inferior, and self-conscious. She’d seen her talk to Ygritte and Missandei before coming for her today. 

‘I hope they destroy you,’ Cersei said, her simpering smile still on her face. ‘I’d pay good money to see that.’ She walked off, back to her space on the viewing bench, leaning to talk to Tyrion and Bronn behind her. No doubt the pile of money for her fight would be the best of the lot, Brienne thought. 

If only she knew who it was. She’d put a bet on, too. 

‘Don’t be nervous,’ said Podrick, as he took Cersei’s place at Brienne’s side. She smiled over at him. 

‘You know me better than that,’ she answered. She lightly punched one of the ropes in front of her, testing the bounce back of her gloves. Waiting was the worst. She’d much rather it all be over and done with now. 

‘It won’t be too bad,’ Pod said. ‘And you’re a good fighter. Plus, Sam’s here if anything goes wrong.’ He swallowed, and Brienne could tell he had as much faith in the medic as she did. 

‘Pod, you sound almost as if you know what’s coming.’ She turned to face him, but he refused to meet her gaze, his mouth opening and closing as he thought of words to say. 

He was spared; Varys was coming back into the room, clapping his hands together and calling for everyone to take their places. Cameramen were picking their cameras back up, and Sam was leading Sansa back to her seat, a plaster over the cut on her face. 

Talisa leaned forward to speak to the red head, who nodded. It seemed there would be a queue of girl’s outside the nurse’s room later, getting their injuries checked out. 

With everyone back in their seats, Varys waited five seconds for silence to fall, before nodding his approval. 

‘Excellent. There’s only one fight left to us now, and as I’m sure the savvy of you have realised, only one contestant left to fight, due to Cersei not being able to take part; which leaves us in quite the pickle.’ He gave a little laugh, and the hairs on Brienne’s neck stood up. 

There was a squeeze on her thigh – Margaery. Her gaze was fixed on Varys too, wariness in her expression. She didn’t know what was going to happen either. ‘Luckily for us we happen to have a few trained fighters in this room. Please, ladies, put your hands together for the last fight of the evening; Brienne vs...The Hound!’ 

There was a smattering of applause that died out quickly. Brienne stood, her legs solid beneath her. She’d suspected it since she’d seen him entering the room. 

‘I did wonder who they’d let fight her,’ said a murmured voice from around her knees as she made her way towards the ring. ‘It’s not like any of us are in her weight bracket.’ There was a muffled giggling, before hushes were given. Brienne ignored them, ignored the pang her heart gave. She didn’t know all these women; hadn’t had more than a conversation with some of them. 

And yet, she’d stupidly believed that only Cersei was mean enough to say those type of things. 

She ducked into the ring, facing The Hound head on. He was standing at the other side, just staring at her, a slight upturn at the side of his mouth. 

He thought he was going to win this, Brienne realised. 

The bell signalling the start of the fight went off. 

And then all other sounds faded. Brienne could only hear the whirring of blood in her ears, the soft thwack as gloves met body, the huffed breathes of The Hound, or her shouts. She’d always been the loudest in the ring, screams and shouts rising from her as she moved her body the best way she knew how. 

She might have habits that meant nobody paid her any attention in the real world, but here, fighting....here, she wanted people to look. 

Brienne went for the first punch, but he blocked it easily. As she did to his. She stepped to the side, him following, his eyes never leaving her. She had a split second to decide what to do; she ducked, his fist hitting the edge of the ring, where her head had been not a moment ago. She ducked around his body, coming up behind him; but he turned and blocked her next hit, her arm hitting his with a smack that made her bones vibrate. 

His other fist came up, connecting with her face, and turning her gaze to the side. There was no play fighting here; no laughing; no having this over and done with within a couple of minutes. Brienne felt the tension in the room grow, stretching over everyone, so tight she wasn’t sure anything could break it. One of them wasn’t coming out of this well. 

She’d be dammed if it was going to be her. 

The second time he hit her face, she dropped to the floor, pretending to be down before jumping up and missing the low punch he aimed at her. Her fist connected with his face, and if he was surprised at the force she put behind it he didn’t show it, except for a darkening of his eyes as he came towards her again. She blocked him again and again and he did the same, as they moved around the ring. Her arms were above her head, defending her face, when he brought his fist down, catching her in the gut. 

She grunted, pitching forward a little; The Hound took a step back, dropping his arms a fraction. Brienne took the advantage, catching him on the back on his head on one side, then the other, again and again. He couldn’t fend her off, and for one shining moment Brienne thought this could be it; but then she felt a pain in her shin, and was thrown off balance as his foot kicked her, spinning her away from him. 

There was an almost animal like grin tugging on her face now; he’d opened the gates. If he didn’t want to play fair, then she sure as hell didn’t have to. 

She turned, expecting his play for her. He’d expect her to be down, but she was ready; she blocked him, again and again, forcing him into a corner of the ring. She didn’t know which; didn’t know who was facing them, if it was the F&F or the women. Didn’t know if she was being cheered on, or watched in horror as she aimed a kick, right for his chest, pushing him to the floor and leaving her towering above him. 

He swept his foot out, but she side stepped, giving him the time to grasp the ropes and get back on his feet, coming for her once more. She blocked him, constantly moving backwards, ducking and trying to land more punches, not noticing his foot coming to trip her once again. This time she was the one on the floor, and he didn’t give her any leeway to get back up. He was next to her, and there was a second where she knew what was going to happen, almost as if everything was happening in slow motion; his glove in the air above her, her head stuck to the ground with sweat, the black fabric as it grew closer to her face, before his fist punched her squarely in the jaw. She’d have a bruise there tomorrow, and the thought almost made her laugh. The make-up people would go mental the next time they saw her. 

With a shout, she rolled, avoiding his next punch, grinning at the yell he gave as his wrist hit the floor, before he was on her, his body covering hers – but he’d made the wrong move here. They might be evenly matched when it came to dodging and diving, but she definitely weighed more than him, if only slightly. Taking advice from the women who’d fought before her, she tore one of her gloves off, grasping him by his elbow and putting all her weight behind her as she rolled them over, till she was on top of him. 

His black hair was covering his eyes, strands cutting the black iris into bars, although she could make out the glittering hatred between them. She knew both of them were sweating, but she’d pushed the cameras to the back of her mind. She’d rather look ugly and win than try to retain the tiny bit of effort she’d put in today and lose. 

She brought her fist in the glove into his stomach, enjoying the grunts he made. She could feel bruises all over her body now, where she’d hit the ropes, or his punches had landed; but it wasn’t over yet. She crawled off him, rolling to the side. Just a minute. She needed to get some air back into her body, to prepare for whatever he forced her to endure next.... 

There was an excruciating pain shooting through her and for a moment all she could see were stars. Back to his old habits, he’d aimed a kick at her, straight to her inner thigh, his boots causing more damage than her trainers could ever. There was another one, straight after, although this caught her other leg, and much lower down. If she let this carry on, she’d probably be crippled. 

She rolled again, dodging his next kick but giving him enough time to pin her down. Her back was against the floor, his entire body filling her with a hatred she’d never felt before. His sweaty hair dangled down to her face as he raised his arm, preparing for the final blow. He wasn’t monitoring himself any more, if he’d ever been. He was in till she begged for mercy. 

He didn’t know her very well if he’d ever thought that was going to happen. 

As his arm lowered, she brought her non gloved hand up, catching his wrist, and twisting it, till he moaned in pain, then kicked out, pushing him aside, and twisting his wrist more. He was right next to her now, his face so close, and she felt a primal urge inside her. She wanted to claw, and bite, and hurt him. 

Instead she jumped up, and he followed, grunting. He was slowing, she realised. His punches were landing wide, and he shuffled a little as he moved, instead of the careful steps he’d been taking. 

It gave her a new sense of hope, and she darted forward, landing a punch on his shoulder that made him wobble. Good. 

There was warmth on her face, she realised, and a salty tang in her mouth. She wiped her arm across her lips, not surprised at the blood that came away. She didn’t remember when it had happened; he’d caught her in the face so many times. 

He made a grab for her waist, but she pushed him back. He was slouching, and it only made her stand taller; a mistake, as he got her once more in the stomach. 

She barely even felt it this time. Something else was overtaking her body; the sense of purpose. This fight was over; they both knew it. 

They also knew he wouldn’t go down, unless she made him; and Brienne intended to enjoy every second of it. 

With lighting speed, she boxed him around the head, again and again and again, pushing him back, and back, and back till he was in a corner, arms raised above his head to fend her off. 

She swept her leg out to the side, taking him down, still poised as she counted in her head. 

Three seconds. Three seconds and she’d won. 

‘You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?’ The Hound grunted from the ground. Brienne blinked, her surroundings coming back to her; there was blood everywhere, all over the floor around them, dripping from her nose, streaming from a cut on the side of his face, near his ear. A bruise was forming around his eye. The Hound removed his gloves to massage the back of his head, as he used the ropes to pull himself into a sitting position. 

‘Yeah,’ Brienne said, the screams of the other women finally registering, as though a flick had been switched. ‘But I’m the fucking bitch who beat you.’ 

And then she did something she never did. She let a full smile bloom over her face, as she stared down at him, and the growing respect in his eyes. She knew her mouth took over the entire bottom of her face when she did this. Knew her nose spread and her teeth would be showed off to their full crookedness. 

But right now, she couldn’t care less about any of that. 

‘Brienne, Brienne.’ There were voices calling for her, and she turned, trying to seek them out, but needing to grab onto the ropes to steady herself. The gym was spinning a little, and there was something in her eyes; sweat, or blood that made it hard to see. She could hear someone sobbing, although she didn’t know why, and raised voices. 

‘We need to get her to a medic.’ That was Renly, she thought. Always looking out for her. How kind. 

She shook her head, trying to get rid of these thoughts that were invading her brain. She felt slightly punch drunk, and then she almost giggled. She’d been punched quite a lot – punch drunk was a good phrase to use here. 

‘Sam’s just over there,’ Varys said. 

‘No, a real medic, someone who knows what they’re doing,’ Renly said. There were hands on her arms, and she was being pulled down from the ring, stepping into empty air. The floor had gone from underneath her, and she staggered. 

‘Please, everyone give me a little space so I can tend to her,’ said a voice. ‘Someone who has a phone call an ambulance so we can get both of them seen to.’ Someone was guiding her into a chair, and she sat down. She needed a moment. Her head was pounding and her vision was swimming. 

This was only meant to be a bit of fun. Why did she feel the worst she’d ever felt? ‘Loras, Renly, Varys, any of you F&F, I’m talking about you. None of us have phones.’ 

Brienne felt a feeble giggle escape her lips. Margaery had a phone. But nobody was allowed to know that. 

‘She’s giggling, something is not right.’ That was Sansa’s voice, and Brienne reached a hand to grab for her friend. Sansa was injured, she remembered. ‘Hey, Brienne, everything is going to be okay.’ 

Such a drama queen. It was a few hits. Brienne would be fine. She just needed water and maybe some sleep. It would all be cleared up in a few hours. 

There were fingers grasping hers. Chattering voices talking about the cameras packing up, and Tyrion saying there were cabs waiting outside if anyone wanted to go back to the house. He was going to stay – and so was Pod, and Sansa, and Margaery. Yara and Ygritte were staying too, and Talisa was here, crouching down in front of Brienne. Voices were getting easier to pick out now, and the film over her eyes was starting to clear as well. 

‘There’s no point half of us staying,’ Margaery was saying. ‘Go back to the house and we’ll be back soon. She’s already coming back to herself.’ There were half-hearted words of protests – Gilly, Melisandre, Osha and Roslin, Brienne thought, but soon they were all cleared away, and the gym was quiet. 

‘The medics have been called and they’ll be here soon.’ Loras was in front of her now. ‘There’s a room out the back if you’d prefer some privacy, although Talisa thinks it might be better not to move you for a while.’ 

‘I probably have a slight concussion and my nose might be broken again,’ Brienne said. Her head was throbbing now, but all her other senses were returning to her. She wriggled her nose, and was glad to find she could without a sharp pain spreading through her. Not broken then; just bruised. She’d broken her nose three times before in other fights, so was well aware of what it felt like. 

She tipped her head up, embarrassment rushing to her as she saw the faces staring back at her. ‘I’m sorry I got blood on your floor.’ The gym had been spotless before they’d come in – even nine other girl fights had barely made a mess. Sansa hadn’t gotten a drop on the floor and she’d walked the entire length of the room. Brienne’s chair was literally at the side of the ring. 

‘No worries,’ Loras said. ‘That’s what cleaners are for.’ 

‘How’s The Hound?’ she asked. She hadn’t actually wanted to hurt him as badly as she feared she had; but it had seemed like such a kill or be killed situation, even though she knew it wouldn’t be allowed to go that far. The One would be shut down before you could even say ‘Broadcasting Standards.’ 

‘Worse than you, I’d say,’ Tyrion said, appearing from the side. ‘But I think his face is only slightly more bruised than his ego. You gave a great fight.’ 

‘Well everyone knows Petyr wants drama,’ Brienne muttered. She wanted to sleep, but she knew she couldn’t. Talisa was gently prodding around her face, wiping blood from her chin, a frown marring her smooth skin. 

‘You should go to the police,’ Renly said, fury lacing his every word. ‘What happened wasn’t just drama. It was almost a crime scene! There’s no way that fight should have gotten so out of hand, but Varys just let it go on, even when everyone was screaming at him to stop it. Loras even tried to enter at one point, to pull him off you, but that Bronn fellow held him back.’ He shook his head, and Brienne could see his fury written across the face of everyone around her. 

Even Tyrion had a twitch in his jaw. 

‘I would like to apologise for The Hound,’ Tyrion said. ‘When it was suggested this morning that he fight you, he nodded like it was no big deal. I should have realised he would have enjoyed beating the shit out of you.’ He signed. ‘Rest assured, he will be punished.’ 

‘Why?’ Brienne asked. Shock flew across the faces in front of her. ‘Yes, it got a little out of hand, but I gave as good as I got given. And, in the heat of a fight, you’ll do anything if it means a win.’ She sought Loras’s eyes out. ‘We’ve had fights that have ended in worse injures than this,’ she said, gesturing to her head. ‘You’ve broken my nose before. And I broke two of your ribs, once, remember?’ Loras nodded, his expression softening. 

‘That was a good fight,’ he said, a smile on his face. 

‘It was,’ Brienne agreed. ‘I’ll wait to be seen by people who actually know what they’re doing – no offence to Sam – but I’m fine. Already feeling more myself, already.’ She flexed her arms, feeling for every bruise on them. Her legs were going to be a bitch when she finally got to stand up, she knew. But the aches and pains would fade. 

‘It was a hell of a fight,’ Renly said. 

‘Indeed,’ Tyrion said, his gaze on her. ‘And if it makes you feel at all better, I won an awful lot of money betting on you.’ 

‘You know,’ she said, as a knock on the door announced the arrival of the medics, ‘it kind of does.’ 

* 

‘I thought you’d hate me,’ Renly said to her later. He was helping her into the back of a taxi. Everyone else had drifted back to their homes as the medics checked her and then The Hound. Brienne had wanted to wait to see how he was. Neither of them were going to suffer for too long, it seemed. A lot of bruises, and he’d obtained a sprained wrist, and her legs would probably be shaky for a few days, but otherwise they’d been given the all clear. And a lot of painkillers, which she wasn’t really allowed to take for 24 hours, just in case. She also needed to be watched for the next 12, just in case she nodded off to sleep. Sansa and Margaery had volunteered to keep watch over her, and they’d assured everyone they’d call if she started to feel sick, or any of the other symptoms the medics had warned them of. 

Tyrion had agreed to keep watch on The Hound although he hadn’t sounded too happy about it. 

‘For what?’ Brienne asked. The rain was being held off for the moment but a chilly wind was whipping around them, bringing goose bumps on her arms. She’d lost her hoodie somewhere inside the gym and couldn’t be bothered going back for it. 

‘Everything,’ Renly said. ‘For dating Margaery even though I wasn’t oblivious to your feelings for me, and then leaving her for Loras. Not telling you I was gay. We haven’t spoken for two years. I thought you did hate me.’ 

‘I’ve never hated you, Renly,’ Brienne said, a tugging on her heart. She really had grown, she thought. Even knowing that Renly had known about her feelings didn’t make her blush. ‘You were kind to me, and sweet and funny and let’s be honest, not bad to look at. One of the only people in the world to me who was, and who wasn’t either related to me or a friend.’ She shrugged. ‘I think it was always inevitable I’d fall for you. You were there for me during the hardest time of my life, as well, don’t forget. I think feelings and emotions always get a little mixed up after something like that, even if we were just kids.’ She signed. ‘And I didn’t hate you for dating Margaery. Everyone could see you two made sense, and liked each other. You can’t help who you fall for; which brings me to Loras. I don’t hate you for not telling me. I distanced myself from you, and I’m sorry for that, especially if you felt like you couldn’t talk to me. Especially if you felt like you had no one else. And you and Loras seem really happy together.’ 

‘We are,’ he said, a soft smile on his face. Something warm glowed in Brienne. She’d only ever wanted happiness for her friends; and she was glad Renly had found his. ‘I don’t like how it happened, but I was drawn to him. It felt like I couldn’t stop myself. And Margaery...I did love her. Still do. Just not like that.’ 

Brienne knew very little about love; her ideas and advice came from films and books and that was constantly drummed into her about how those weren’t real life. Even in books and TV shows they had a line about how weird it was, how their story-line was just like fiction and would never happen in real life. 

‘I don’t agree with how you handled things, although I don’t know the full story,’ she said. Her legs were staring to shake a little beneath her, and she clung to the taxi door, glad of the biting cold of the metal on her fingers. ‘And I know Margaery was upset...but I think she’ll realise it was for the best.’ She hesitated a moment before speaking thoughts she’d always shoved away because she’d thought they’d been borne of jealously and bitterness. ‘She liked you for sure, but I don’t know if she loved you. Not in the all passion, consuming way she pretended to others she did. And I think she’s more upset about the betrayal and losing the life she thought she would have than actually losing you.’ 

‘Gods, I’ve missed you,’ Renly said, and Brienne was surprised to find herself in a bear hug. ‘I had the same thoughts, but I never wanted to voice them. I thought I was just trying to justify my actions by making excuses.’ 

Brienne muffled a laugh into his shoulder, patted him on the back, and then took a step back. 

‘When I leave this contest,’ she said, ‘I’ll text you and we can meet up. Get things back on track.’ 

‘You’re coming back to London?’ Renly asked. He’d reached for her door, but stopped when he saw she already had it. Margaery had appeared at the entrance to the gym, taking to Loras, the siblings now smiling at each other, Sansa plaiting her hair behind them as they came towards the taxi. 

‘Yeah,’ Brienne said. ‘I had my two years to get everything I needed to in my head. And this whole thing is to launch me into the public eye. My father is planning on semi-retiring by the end of the year, and announcing me as his successor. I think he’s planning on spending a couple of years on the island himself.’ 

‘I’d really like that,’ he said. 

‘We can watch the final together and vote for the worst option to marry Jaime,’ Brienne said. Renly caught her in a questioning gaze. ‘What?’ 

‘Oh nothing,’ he said, tugging the door open for her, and ignoring her feeble protests, as Margaery, Sansa and Loras reached them. ‘Just if I were you, I wouldn’t count my episodes yet.’ 

* 

When they got back to the house, Brienne was surprised to find a cluster of the other girl’s in the living room, waiting for them. Yara, Ygritte, Talisa, Ellaria, Melisandre and Shae were on the sofa, chairs, a couple on the floor, all chatting to each other. 

‘You’ve alive then,’ Ygritte said when she noticed them entering. 

‘Of course, I’m alive,’ Brienne said. Yara shuffled from the end of the sofa, and Brienne dropped into the space gratefully. Margaery and Sansa took a seat on the floor, opposite her. ‘I’m offended you think that’s all it would take to kill me.’ 

‘True,’ Ygritte said. ‘I knew you weren’t as weak as some of the others. But, still. It looked horrible.’ The others were nodding, and Brienne considered asking for more details; the whole five minutes had been reduced to The Hound’s face and protecting herself. She recalled nothing that had happened outside the ring. 

She decided against it. If she was that curious in a few days she could always wait till she left and then watch the episode. There was no way they were going to cut that whole sequence out and even the greatest editor would have a hard time spinning it into anything else, other than the brutal take down it was. 

‘Where are the others?’ she asked now. ‘Is everyone else okay?’ Sansa had told her off for asking about her health in the car. Told her she’d been in worse fights with her sister, and still had scars from them; a small scratch wasn’t going to break her. 

‘Cersei disappeared to her room as soon as soon as we got back,’ Yara said. ‘Good riddance, like anyone wants her here anyway. Daenerys and Missandei stayed for a while but then went upstairs together. I think they’re chatting in Daenerys's room, but they didn’t want to crowd you. Ros has slipped out; she refused to tell us where she was going.’ 

‘Okay, I’m just going to ask,’ Sansa said. ‘Is there anybody here who doesn’t know she’s secretly spying for Petyr? I’ve seen them chatting a couple of times when they think nobody is watching. And I know they knew each other before hand. He brought her as a date to one of my families parties a few years back.’ A couple of them raised their hands, but they didn’t seem shocked. 

Brienne hadn’t known, either, but it made a lot of sense. Ros was always carefully watching them, almost like she was taking mental notes. It made sense now they knew she’d be reporting back later. 

‘Alright, well, she’s probably gone to him then,’ Yara continued. 'Gilly said she felt unwell and went off with Sam and hasn’t come back. And the rest cried off, saying they were tired and that today had taken it out of them.’ She barely contained her impatience. ‘If they thought today was bad, I’d hate to see what they’d be like if we actually had to do something strenuous.’ 

‘Hey, some of us didn’t spend five minutes just pissing around and acting,’ Ellaria said. ‘Give them a little slack.’ 

‘I just meant that however bad some of the fights got, they did all only last five minutes. The rest was us sitting down. I’ve heard some of the producers talking about a day of walking; how are they going to cope with that?’ 

Ellaria pulled a face. ‘A day of walking?’ she shuddered. ‘Let’s hope I’ve gone before then.’ 

There was a lull in the conversation, probably as everyone wondered about what the walking would be. Jaime Lannister didn’t seem like he hiked, or went on rambles in his spare time. Brienne thought about trekking up a hill; probably a spot he’d found when he was younger and had loved. He wouldn’t have been back for years, but it had suddenly popped into his mind when he’d needed to produce tasks. 

Or maybe Tyrion had suggested it. Tyrion seemed like the kind of guy who would have secret views stashed up his sleeve. Great places to go to impress women, or to hide from the world when you needed to. 

‘Brienne!’ There was a sharp smack on her arm, and she blinked her eyes open, surprised to find herself slumped down on the sofa. 

‘What?’ she said. She sat up, the sleepiness falling away. ‘Sorry. It’s been a long day.’ 

‘I know,’ Margaery said. She’d scooted to Brienne’s side, and seemed to be the person who had issued the smack. ‘And I promise you can go to sleep soon. The medic’s said as long as you showed no other signs of concussion you’d be alright as long as you could hold a conversation. But I just want to hold off a little longer, okay? For my peace of mind?’ She smiled so lovingly, that Brienne would have found it hard to deny her anything. 

‘An hour,’ she said. ‘And that’s it.’ 

Someone decided to make a round of hot chocolates for everyone, and the warm cup brought the nerves back to Brienne’s hand. She hadn’t realised she’d been feeling so chilly. A few of the women added vodka shots to theirs, but Brienne who had never been a big drinker – and who received the stink eye from Margaery and Sansa when the bottle was accidentally passed to her anyway – didn't bother. She would sleep well tonight, already, she knew. 

‘Does anyone know what the plans are for the next few days?’ she asked. Time seemed to be floating away from her here, and she hated it. She was a grounded person, who always knew the date and the time and the day, but she couldn’t keep track of it here. ‘Do we have to have another meeting with the wardrobe department for our next task?’ Talking about the next task seemed ridiculous, when they’d only just filmed the first; but it would be here before they knew it. 

For some of them, anyway. 

‘No,’ Sansa said. ‘I saw the schedule pinned up in Petyr’s office when I went in today. On Saturday, Jaime will film the introduction for the next task in the morning, before the first episode airs in the evening. Five of us will leave. On Monday we’ll film the next segment, and he’s given us three days for that one, so Gods knows what it will be.’ 

‘Five of us gone,’ said Ygritte. ‘Is it weird that I have no interest in Jaime Lannister, but I don’t want to go?’ There were a few murmured agreements from the others. 

Brienne stayed silent. In this room, with the white walls muted to a grey by the dimmed lightbulb, and on the squashy L shaped sofa, with these girls around her, she was having a good time. She would be sad to leave this. 

But the cameras still made her skin prickle, and there were certain other women here she’d be glad to never see again. 

‘Ah, but your heart belongs to another,’ Sansa said. She was smiling, though, unlike when she’d found out about Ygritte’s crush. 

‘Aye, it does,’ Ygritte said. ‘And I doubt seeing me tackle a scared person to the floor will install a fire for me in Jon Snow’s heart.’ 

‘Jon’s actually kind of a peaceful person, unless you get him mad,’ Sansa said. ‘And I mean like really mad.’ 

‘Still,’ Ygritte said. ‘I haven’t done enough to show him why we’re soulmates.’ 

‘Do you really think he’s watching?’ Ellaria asked. ‘I mean I’ve never heard of this Jon Snow guy; he seems a little under my age bracket, but I gather he’s a famous singer? Why would he be watching a reality dating show?’ 

‘Oh, he won’t be,’ Ygritte said cheerfully. She glanced at Sansa. ‘Well, he might now his cousin’s in it, but it’s for what comes after I’m excited about. He gets to go to all these parties, and by doing this, I’m hoping to angle an invitation to them one day. Our eyes will meet across the room, and it will be magical.’ She was lost in her daydreams, and Brienne smiled into her mug. 

She was glad she’d never been like that. Starry eyed and filled with fantasies about men out of her reach. Even with Renly, part of her knew nothing was ever going to happen. She didn’t make up dreams about him, wishing he’d just barge into the parties they both attended and declare his undying love for her. She was too practical for that. 

‘You know, you’re not the only Jon Snow fan in this room,’ Margaery said, a glint in her eye. ‘I presume you’ve heard of the Jon Snow Fan site, Snowies Unite?’ 

Brienne kept her face down, trying to avoid meeting Sansa’s eyes; neither of them could help the bubble of laughter that came out when the name for Jon’s fans came up. Snowie’s was such a stupid name, but it had stuck and they now refused to call themselves anything else. ‘What if I told you that someone in this very room ran it?’ 

‘I’d say you’re lying,’ Ygritte said. She shifted slightly as Talisa got up from the sofa, bidding them all good night. Brienne wasn’t the only one who’d almost nodded off on the sofa. 

‘And what would you say Melisandre?’ Margaery asked. 

‘I’d say I’d like to know where you get your information from,’ Melisandre said. ‘But it’s true. I do run the site.’ She shrugged like it was no big deal. 

Brienne was starting to get a little uncomfortable. She’d been in these gym clothes for a long time. There was blood encrusted on the collar, and a slight smell from the dried sweat and rainwater that had clung to it. 

‘Why didn’t you say?’ Ygritte asked. She eyed the red head. ‘You don’t love him too, do you? I saw you fight; don’t much fancy my chances.’ 

‘I’m not in love with him, no,’ Melisandre said. She shrugged again. ‘My family is from royalty in my country; distantly related. It’s part of the reason I’m here; Tywin Lannister loves the idea of marrying his son into an actual monarch. After everything that happened with Selyse’s husband – and I’m sure you all know about that -,’ there was a lot of nodding in the room, ‘I lost my faith in the values my family had. Gods and their all-powerful seeing. People who spoke in rhymes and could tell the future. Nothing had come true, and everything ended in disaster. I felt afloat, and had nothing to ground me. Then I heard Jon’s music. About knowing nothing, and feeling lost, and not know who you were any more. It lit a fire inside me, and my admiration grew from there.’ 

‘Wow,’ Ygritte said. ‘I just think he’s super fit and makes a good tune. And he makes me feel things, but in my lady parts.’ 

‘I love the boundaries here,’ Brienne muttered to herself, before addressing the room. ‘I think it’s been an hour. Thank you all for today. For caring enough about me to stay awake, but I think we all need to sleep now. We’ll be on live TV in two days from now, and I know we’ll have to look our best.’ She pulled a face – it didn’t matter what they looked like. The make-up team would be on them for hours on Saturday before they went live. 

‘You should tell that to the lovely bruise forming on your jaw,’ Sansa said, but she hopped up, clutching discarded hot chocolate cups and taking them through to the kitchen. ‘Also, you’re very mistaken if you think there’s not going to be somebody with you in your room tonight. We have to make sure you’re okay.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ Brienne said, also standing. She stretched, feeling the pull of her muscles, the bruises on her stomach and arms. She was going to be black and blue tomorrow. ‘My room is tiny. I barely fit in there, there’s no way anybody will be able to join me.’ 

‘Then you’ll come to my room,’ Margaery said, standing too. ‘It’s the third door on the first hallway. There’s enough room for four of us in there. I’ll go and get you something to sleep in and meet you there.’ She raced from the room before Brienne could protest. 

She had her orders. And she had no doubt that she’d be frog marched into Margaery's rooms by the other girl’s if she failed to comply. 

‘Wait,’ Shae said, as everyone stood to leave, too. Sansa had come back in, and they turned to look at Shae. ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry, again.’ She was fiddling with her hands, and couldn’t meet Sansa’s eyes. ‘I had producers whispering in my ear all day. They told me you were saying things about me behind my back. That you were laughing about me with your friends, and how you thought I was beneath you.’ 

‘I would never,’ Sansa said. 

‘I think I’m starting to get that,’ Shae said. It felt like they were the only two in the room, and Brienne wondered if she should be here for this. ‘But you have to understand. How I got into this contest...’ she paused, then lifted her chin up, her hands stilled at her sides. ‘I was someone who Tywin Lannister paid to sleep with him. When he mentioned that his son was going to be the suitor on The One, I forced him to make me a contestant, or I’d go to the papers and tell everyone his dirty little secret.’ 

A shocked pause flickered around the room. Nobody seemed to know what to say, until Ellaria spoke up. 

‘How weird,’ she said. ‘I always thought that’s why Myranda was here; because he’d been caught in one of her underground sex clubs where she puts guys on leads and makes them crawl around on all fours.’ 

‘She does what?’ Ygritte asked. 

‘Me and my love went once,’ Ellaria said. ‘It was quite the experience, although a little too out there, even for us.’ She and Ygritte moved to the stairs, Yara behind them, still chatting away; she seemed to be telling the two more about her tastes, and Brienne hoped the other girls had dreamless sleeps tonight. 

She didn’t want to be woken up to another scream. 

‘Thank you for apologising,’ Sansa said. ‘But if anyone says anything to you again, just come and talk to me. I’d hate for this experience to be any worse that it has to be.’ She turned to Brienne then. ‘Okay, time for bed.’ She grabbed her by the elbow, walking her away from the room, away from Shae who seemed stuck to her place on the floor. ‘I do appreciate her saying sorry,’ she murmured. ‘But I don’t trust her. The way she was looking at me was scary.’ 

‘I know,’ Brienne said. She thought about the comments she’d heard about herself earlier; about the secrets these other women were hiding. Everyone was putting a mask on, and having their fears talked up by producers. They were being put in situations that made them uncomfortable and then having cameras trained on them at their most raw. 

Some of them had five more weeks of this to go. 

Brienne didn’t want to be here when they finally snapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never written a fight scene before so apologizes if they made no sense / weren't realistic / were boring!


	7. Chapter 7

Jaime turned over in the cramped bed, kicking the covers off and wishing he was back in the king size at his hotel. He’d only slept on this bed for a total of two nights and already his back was aching. Maybe he could ask to order another one. A less lumpy mattress. 

There was a bang from downstairs, and Jaime sat up, ears pricked for another sound. This house was supposed to be tucked away, somewhere fans of the show wouldn’t be able to find; he was supposed to be safe here. 

‘Mr Lannister, I hope you’re ready for your close up.’ That was Varys shouting up the stairs. Jaime recognized his plummy tones, and the underlying smugness that came from thinking whatever you said was hilarious. 

Jaime tried hard not to wonder if he sometimes sounded like that, when he said something that amused him. He thought he probably did. 

Resisting the urge to just pull the duvet over his head and go back to sleep, he wandered downstairs, idly scratching his stomach. He’d need to go to the gym at the hotel at some point, if Tyrion could swing it. He could already feel his body becoming a little softer with the workouts he’d missed. It had taken a while to get back in shape after his accident, made even longer by the six months he’d refused to actually do anything even though the doctors had told him he was well enough to start living normally again. 

‘Good Gods,’ Tyrion said as Jaime came into the room. His brother shielded his eyes. ‘There are some things your brother doesn’t need to see at 7am, and you in your underwear is one of them. Put some clothes on.’ 

‘Why?’ Jaime asked, raising one eyebrow. Him and Cersei had spent months practicing how to perfect the move when they were teenagers and the ability had never left him. ‘Isn’t this what the viewers at home are just dying to see? Jaime Lannister in his pants?’ He grinned at Tyrion, then winked at one of the women running in and out of the house. There were several people trailing cables across the ground, twisting the cameras in the walls, and hauling giant lights into the living room. 

Time to film his segment for Task 2. ‘Anyway, if you didn’t want to see this, maybe you should have told them to come at a more respectable hour,’ he said, settling into a chair at the small table. This was where Jaime should have had his meals, and he wondered if anyone would notice the thin layer of dust that was gathering on it. He’d have to get a cleaner in, he supposed. Try to keep up the pretense at least. 

Which was the only reason he’d spent the night here; Tyrion had insisted. 

‘I told you, that with the episodes and the vote off’s now airing, they’d want to get your part out of the way as early as possible,’ Tyrion hissed from the other side of the table. He looked like he’d been awake for hours, although it was probably that he hadn’t been to bed yet. Tyrion still had the last traces of youth on his side. The lines on his face were fine, instead of deeply carved. His hair was still a deep blonde, although getting darker every year. 

Jaime would never tell anyone about the grey hair he’d found last year. He’d yanked it out there and then, and shoved it to the back of his mind; it was too early. He wasn’t ready. ‘I told you that’s why you had to sleep here last night. I knew there was no way you’d be able to get up, get dressed and make it here in time to function if you’d stayed at the hotel.’ 

So, this was what he had to look forward too, for the next few weeks. A Friday night spent tucked up in a single bed, with only the crickets outside to entertain him. There was no internet here; he’d checked. ‘And anyway, it can’t be that bad surely; you crashed here the other night, didn’t you?’ 

Ah, yes, Tuesday night. A whole day of being on the receiving end of Cersei’s calls where she altered between yelling at him for things he couldn’t grasp or telling how horrible and stupid all the other girls were and she hoped this was all worth it. 

He’d had to come here to film some segments for the website, although he didn’t remember much of it. He’d sat on the sofa, stuck his hand into a bowl and answered questions the public had sent in via Twitter. 

He’d ignored the hateful ones that Petyr had put in there to show him what most of the viewers still thought of him. Petyr wasn’t going to edit the show with him in a bad light; nobody would watch if they didn’t care about seeing who he ended up with. 

It also wasn’t his agenda to change the public image of himself; he’d accepted the charges and the nickname they threw at him. He didn’t need them to love him. 

‘Mr Lannister, as grateful as I’m sure the audience will be to find you with your clothes off, please save it for the calendar.’ Varys was there, his bright orange robes making Jaime blink. ‘Or I’ll mention to Petyr that you’d like a feature where you’re in nothing but a swimsuit. But I’m afraid it won’t work for today, so get upstairs and put a shirt on.’ 

Tyrion flashed him a grin, then pushed a still warm cup of coffee towards him. ‘Chop, chop, Mr Lannister. The ladies at the house have already been up for an hour to prepare for tonight. You can give us a couple of hours of your time,' Varys said, clapping his hands together once. 

Taking the coffee, Jaime went back upstairs, only slightly worried about the calendar that Varys had mentioned. Petyr would no doubt milk this show for all the merchandise he could get made cheaply. A couple of the women posed up together, Jaime dressed in stupid costumes for each month. 

He’d refuse. 

There wasn’t a lot of choice in his wardrobe. He’d only brought the bare minimum over; all his other items were at the hotel. 

In the end, he selected a pair of tight-fitting jeans, and a green silk shirt that reminded him of Cersei’s eyes. It made him feel closer to her, even though he knew it was stupid. 

‘Finally,’ Varys said when Jaime reappeared in the living room, empty cup in his hands. ‘I’ve got to get over to the house after this you know. Make sure they know the positions they have to be in. Let them know I’m there if they need a shoulder to cry on after the elimination tonight.’ From anyone else, that would’ve sounded creepy, but Varys made it sound just like a fact; if any of the women were upset, he would be there to comfort them. No other motive. 

It was a little refreshing to meet somebody who appeared to have a good heart tucked beneath a layer of simpering. 

It reminded Jaime a little of Tyrion, and despite his best efforts he felt himself warming a little to the host. He still needed to keep his guard up; and he couldn’t let Varys know he’d warmed up. Varys would find the weakness and pounce. ‘He’s here,’ Varys said into a mic attached to his collar. 

Jaime should be used to being attacked with brushes by now, but the speed at which the make-up artist came at him still scared him. There was the smell of powder, and hairspray, and he could hear people tutting, before his face was tipped upwards and something cool and heavy was spread under his eyes. 

After what felt like an age, Jaime was released and it was just him and Varys in the room once more. Apart from the two cameramen. And the guy holding a light behind the sofa. And a runner, dressed all in black who was currently texting at the dining table at which Tyrion was still sitting, reading a book. 

‘Welcome to episode three of The One,’ Varys said. Jaime blinked, turning to face a camera and smiling. There hadn’t been a countdown this week and he felt a little wrong footed. He needed a moment to compose himself. To put the walls up, and the Jaime Lannister face on. ‘You’ve seen the women literally fight it out and seen five of them go; remember if you saw your favourite leave last week, get voting now!’ There was a pause. 

‘And now for Task 2!’ Varys clapped his hands together, then turned to Jaime. ‘I believe you have something special to show us?’ 

Jaime, who in truth had completely forgotten what this task was, hoisted a smile on his face as a woman dressed all in black, and for some reason with a tiny pair of fluffy black wings on her back came into the room, a long, silver sword dangling from her hand. She laid the sword on the table, and Jaime shifted forward in his seat, so he could trace a finger along the blade. 

Usually this sword hung on the wall opposite his front door. He liked that it was the first thing he saw when he got home. It had hung in every single place he’d ever lived, even his childhood bedroom. ‘Would you like to tell us about it?’ Varys asked, softly. 

‘It’s my sword,’ Jaime said, still tracing the blade. ‘My father has never been great at giving gifts, but he felt the birth of his first child, his first son, called for something special for my mother. She’d always loved myths and legends, the whole King Arthur and Knights of the Round Table tales.’ He swallowed past the lump in his throat. He never spoke about his mother if he could help it; every time he talked about her, he felt like the memories he shared were fading a little. Like sharing them into the world would whip away another detail from his mind. Her favourite cotton red skirt, which she’d always swish around in. The way she shook her head and rolled her eyes behind Tywin’s back when he went on and on about the company. How she made the best hot chocolate Jaime had ever made. 

He didn’t have a lot of memories of his mother – she'd died in childbirth with Tyrion, when Jaime had been young -, probably wouldn’t even have been able to recall her face without the pictures still scattered around the house, but the memories he did have he kept sharp. Turned them out a few times a month, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. 

A few years after she’d died, he’d even written them down, scared he was losing them after he’d told his new teacher about how his mother had liked mayonnaise on her chips, and then couldn’t remember if she liked them with vinegar or without. 'My father saw there was an auction coming up; all medieval pieces, including this.’ He grasped the sword by the hilt with his left hand, putting the second finger of his fake hand on the tip, so he could spin it round. The silver caught the lights shinning down on them, and he could see the rainbow it was making arc through the air, exposing the dust motes that floated around them. ‘He brought it, and presented it to her after my birth. She loved it; kept it on the wall by her bed, and laughed that at least she was well prepared if someone came for her in the night. When she passed away, I begged my father to let me keep it, and he agreed.’ Tywin hadn’t really been in a fit state, but he’d finally thrown the thing at Jaime one evening and told him if it meant that much to him to ‘just get the bloody thing out of his sight.’ ‘It’s my prized possession. The one thing I’d rescue from a burning building.’ The cool of the metal bit into his palm – the hilt was engraved with tiny little ridges, almost like waves. There was a sapphire set into the top of the hilt, polished to perfection. Jaime sent the sword to be cleaned every few years to make sure it always looked its best. 

‘Can you tell us anything else about it?’ Varys asked. 

‘Unfortunately not,’ Jaime sighed, putting the sword back down. It was a little heavy to hold for long. ‘If there was any paperwork detailing the sword’s story it’s been lost in many house moves. And I like the idea of it being fresh and new, and just about me and my mother. I don’t need to know her history.’ 

‘Her?’ Varys asked. ‘The sword’s a girl? Does she have a name?’ 

‘Of course,’ Jaime said. ‘Joanna. My father named it after my mother.’ 

‘Now it’s time to tell the ladies what you would like them to do this week,’ Varys said, and Jaime came back to himself. He wasn’t talking to a friend about his mother. He wasn’t showing off his sword to someone who was interested in the beauty. He was here to film a TV show. 

‘Of course.' Jaime cleared his throat. ‘You’ve heard what I’d save from a burning building; now it’s time to show me yours. What is your most prized possession? The one material thing that brings you the most joy in the world? You never know. One day yours might just be hanging next to mine on the wall.’ He smiled into the camera again, waiting as Varys led them out of this segment. 

* 

‘The Hound not joining us this week?’ Jaime asked. Pod had shut the door behind him as the other three entered his hotel room, taking their usual positions. Tyrion on the sofa, Bronn at the desk, and Pod settling onto the floor. 

‘Not this week,’ Tyrion said. ‘You’ll understand later.’ There was a smirk on everyone’s faces as they shared some secret Jaime was not yet privy too. He sat back on the sofa, shifting around a little. He couldn’t get comfortable. He felt like Cersei should be next to him; that her comments should ring in his ears. But there was no chance of that happening; Cersei, like the nineteen other women in The One were all at the house, getting ready for their big moment. 

The last five minutes would be streamed live from the back garden. Five of the contestants would be going home. Even though Jaime didn’t care about them, he still felt a little sorry that they’d have to go on live. His bits were all filmed in advance; he could ask to redo a take, or get his make-up touched up. 

And, though he felt a little stupid for thinking it, these women wouldn’t be able to hide their reactions to being voted off. What if they burst into tears, or got angry about only being here for a few weeks? 

‘I’m quite excited about tonight’s episode,’ Tyrion said. ‘Anyone want to place bets on who’s getting voted off?’ 

‘I will,’ Bronn said. He flashed Tyrion a grin as he twirled around in the computer chair in front of his monitors, which Jaime knew displayed the current votes for each of the women. Even looking at the screens gave Jaime a headache. Bronn had tried to explain it all to him, but Jaime had only lasted five minutes before leaving Bronn to it. 

‘Never mind,’ Tyrion said. ‘I forgot.’ 

‘You forgot about rigging a reality show so that we can decide the winner?’ Pod asked. 

‘It’s been a long week,’ Tyrion shrugged. ‘Sometimes I almost think we’re just here to see how everything plays out, and not so Jaime and Cersei can finally get their happily ever after.’ 

Jaime didn’t even bother to shoot him a look at the bitterness in his voice. If he’d just been allowed to marry Cersei, none of this would be happening. But Tywin had forbidden it after he learned what his son and his cousin had been up to behind closed doors. He’d arranged for Cersei to go on a date with Robert the next week, and then made sure the media heard the news about an engagement. 

Jaime had scoffed when Tyrion had told him about it. Cersei was just doing what she had to, in order to get his father off their back; to make sure Tywin didn’t stop paying for her education. She’d date Robert for a year and then leave him. Once they were eighteen, Jaime would move out and him and Cersei could be together. 

Instead, he’d turned eighteen and watched as Cersei and Robert married. He should have known she’d like the attention a little too much. It was hard for anyone to give up; let alone someone who had always hated the background they couldn’t seem to break out from, no matter how hard they tried. 

The One opening titles flashed across the screen – this week the voices were replaced with screams and yells and laughter. Hints at what was to come. 

There was Varys, giving a brief over view of this episode, before the women appeared, standing around in the garden, hanging around outside a small den. The next moment showed them entering the den, although there was no clue given as to how the doors had been opened; and the women crowding into the space, their eyes greedily taking everything in, all eyes eventually fixed to the TV screen facing a sofa. 

Jaime watched idly as they fought over who was to get a seat on the sofa, his eyes glued to Cersei. She looked radiant, sitting in the middle where she belonged, her skirts spread around her. 

Then the camera panned out a little, and Brienne Tarth’s head was above Cersei. Jaime frowned. Cersei was perfect, obviously...but sitting under Brienne he could pick out the slight imperfections. Her golden crown seemed a little duller under Brienne’s almost white blonde hair. Cersei’s eyes, too, seemed a darker green with Brienne’s bright blue eyes above her. 

And Cersei’s tanned skin seemed just the slightest hint of orange when Brienne’s pale arms were resting on the sofa next to her neck. 

None of it mattered, of course. She was still Cersei, still the woman he loved. He was just seeing her in a different light, that was all. The camera wasn’t focused on her any more, but had had to pull back to get Brienne in the shot. Cersei was at the bottom of the screen, her face blending in among all the other’s surrounding her. 

‘Well, I for one am glad our sweet cousin isn’t here to watch this with us,’ Tyrion said. ‘According to the US version, on your wedding night you are provided a laptop with all of the episodes loaded. I’d suggest you talk her out of watching them. Use your charms or whatever it is she sees in you.’ 

‘You know you don’t have to be here to watch the episodes either,’ Jaime said. Maybe there was something to not watching. Maybe he should just stay in the house and speak to no one. He knew the final outcome – did he need to watch? 

Even as he was thinking it, he was settling himself down, resting his elbows on his knees. He wanted to see their fights. He’d always loved a good fight, and Tyrion, who hadn’t wanted to spoil anything for him, had told him they were definitely worth watching. 

Jaime couldn’t help but watch Brienne Tarth. She was in the centre of the screen, her mouth a little open as they played the women the video of Jaime and Varys chatting about Task One; A Day at the Gym. It had been a misleading title for a reason; they didn’t want the girls to know what they were getting into before they had to. They didn’t want them to fake injures, or plan between themselves. 

Jaime and Varys appeared in a little corner of the screen, so the audience could focus on the women’s reaction. Once they’d been informed, and Jaime’s part had ended, the women turned to each other. Jaime laughed at a few of the comments they made about their fitness. Cersei was still sitting on the sofa, and he felt a brief stab of annoyance. Couldn’t she get up and join in? She looked bored, still sitting on the sofa, not saying a word. 

‘Did you know father once tried to send me to Missandei’s parent’s camp?’ Tyrion said. ‘I found all the information in his room. He said it would train me up, make me into a man.’ 

‘I didn’t,’ Jaime said. The place sounded horrible. No wonder his father had never told him of his plans to send Tyrion; Jaime would never have agreed. ‘How did you get out of it?’ 

‘I bluffed, and said you’d never speak to him again and that I’d run away before he could send me there, and he’d never see me again. The idea of losing both his heirs gave him pause, and it was never mentioned again.’ 

‘Your dad sounds like a fucking arsehole,’ Bronn said. ‘I can’t wait to meet him.’ Jaime let out a snort. He was supposed to be worried about the contestants meeting his father; about his father finding out they’d snuck Cersei in as one of Petyr’s choices; not about Bronn and his father meeting. 

That would be interesting. Tyrion had made sure to keep the two away from each other before now. It wasn't a hardship considering Tywin considered his own youngest beneath him and spent as little time with him as possible. 

After the ad break, and Bronn reading out the best comments from Twitter, the scene changed. Instead of being at the house, the outside of a grey bricked building, ‘Thorn Gym’ was in view, a line of waiting taxi’s outside. 

One by one the women emerged, an umbrella covering their heads as they glided into the gym, the doors closing behind them. Each of them seemed to have been associated a colour, their coloured trainers a startling contrast as they walked along the grey pavement. 

Bronn wolf whistled when a few of them left the taxis in skin tight gym clothes. 

‘I’ve added six of them to my list,’ Bronn said. ‘To call after they get voted off,’ he added at Jaime’s questioning look. ‘Some of those bodies they were hiding. Take her for example,’ he said, nodding at the screen and letting out a long whistle. 

Jaime was distracted by a pair of legs. That’s all he could see as the camera seemed to climb up them, finally reaching Brienne’s face. He could see the faint blush on her pale skin even through the screen, but he felt like his mind had gone a little foggy. Obviously, she had legs. Long legs. Muscly legs that held her up, and looked amazing in black with a strip of blue running down them. 

Jaime wondered how they’d feel wrapped around his waist, and then almost slapped himself. He needed to focus. He needed to adjust his seating position before any of the other guys noticed. ‘I’d fuck her,’ Bronn said. 

‘She’d crush you,’ Pod said. ‘And there’s no way she’d let you anywhere near her. Brienne’s got standards.’ There was a note of pride in his voice, and Jaime wondered what their deal was. Pod knew Brienne, that much was obvious. As was that he liked her, admired her. 

‘Aye, well, we’ll see,’ Bronn grinned. ‘Aw, Pod, don’t be jealous. When your balls drop you can ask her out too. She might just say yes; you don’t know how desperate she is.’ 

‘Shut up,’ Pod said, a blush spreading over his cheeks. ‘I don’t...she’s not...it’s not like that.’ 

‘Maybe not, but you wish it could be,’ Bronn said. ‘It’s written all over your face.’ His eyes dropped back to his phone. ‘And you’re not the only one. Brienne’s Legs are currently trending. Seems nobody knew what she was hiding.’ 

‘Someone’s already set up a twitter account for them,’ Pod said, staring down at his phone. ‘It’s quite funny.’ 

Jaime let the words wash over his head. Social media he understood; but he drew the lines at items, or pets, or body parts having their own account. 

On screen Margaery was doubled up in laughter, and Brienne next to her was looking a little pleased with herself; Varys was explaining that today was ‘just a little bit of fun,’; and Cersei was sitting in front of all the standing women, her ankle stuck out at a weird angle, a bandage visible for all to see. 

‘She did find a way to get out of it,’ Tyrion said. ‘You know, sometimes I do admire her. Never tell her I said that, or I’ll kill you, but nobody can deny she always gets what she wants.’ Cersei was explaining her injury to the audience. Jaime wondered if she’d meant to make it sound like she’d been pushed down the stairs. 

But this was Cersei. Of course she did. 

Jaime tuned out for the next few minutes; he knew his F&F would appear and so would Renly and Loras, the owners of the gym. Tyrion had told him all about it, but Jaime barely had any interest in the Tyrell family dramas even with one of them being in the running to marry him. Other families and their issues were none of his concern; The Lannister’s had plenty of their own to worry about. 

‘People are wondering if Cersei was pushed,’ Bronn said. ‘But most seem to be excited for the fights. They're making their predictions about who will fight who.’ 

‘Is anybody right?’ Tyrion asked. 

‘As if I fucking remember,’ Bronn snorted. ‘I remember one fight and one fight only.’ 

The One was back, and Jaime stared at the screen. He was going to concentrate on every single detail of these fights and erase the memory of Brienne’s legs from his mind. 

Daenerys and Missandei were both good fighters, but Daenerys was slippery; he wondered again who it was she reminded him of when her eyes narrowed in concentration, or her mouth twisted when she was unhappy. Names ran though his mind but none of them stuck. 

At the end of the fight, the camera flashed to Shae who was slouching down in her seat, picking her nails. Others were congratulating Daenerys, but Shae stayed tight lipped as the fighters passed her by. 

Jaime laughed as Ros and Ellaria fought. Who would have thought that getting someone in a headlock and spinning them around was the height of amusement? He wasn’t surprised when they left the ring, even though Loras hadn’t called the winner. Would it affect their chances of making it through to next week? 

He hoped not. He liked Ellaria. He hoped she stayed. 

While the next three fights went on, Jaime took out one of his deepest fears about the contest and held it for a few minutes. 

What if the public hated him so much that they only left the horrible ones? What if those women were all they thought Jaime deserved? What if they didn’t like Cersei, and didn’t think they should be together, because they’d make a good couple, like they were hoping everyone would, but instead only saw the mean parts of her, and wanted Jaime to be tied to that? What if he wasn’t good enough? 

‘Ah, this is where it gets exciting,’ Bronn said, and Jaime came back to the show. Selyse and Melisandre were standing on opposite sides of the ring, ready to start. 

‘Osha and Myranda was pretty intense,’ Pod said. 

‘Not compared to what’s coming,’ Tyrion said quietly. ‘You remember the story, don’t you Jaime? Melisandre having an affair with Selyse’s husband?’ 

‘Vaguely,’ Jaime answered. If it wasn’t Lannister, it wasn’t his problem. ‘Seems a little harsh to put them in the ring together.’ 

‘Harsh is right,’ Tyrion said, and then the room lapsed into silence as the two women fought. Selyse was going for it, her rage evident in her eyes as she flew at Melisandre again and again and the red head gave back what she could. 

‘Shouldn’t someone,’ Jaime started, then stopped as a loud clear voice rang from the TV, muting the murmured concerns of the other women. 

Brienne Tarth was standing up and calling out ‘everyone can see Selyse isn’t getting out of that anytime soon.’ There was a moment, and then Brienne seemed to lurch forward, almost like she was thinking of going in and breaking up the fight herself. 

Before she could, Renly was inside the ring, forcing the women apart and helping them to the edge. 

‘People are loving her on Twitter,’ Bronn said. He was back on his phone, scrolling. ‘Everyone’s excited to see her fight.’ He huffed a laugh. ‘I can’t wait to see Twitter after that.’ 

Jaime wanted to ask, but he figured he’d find out soon enough. 

‘That was dramatic,’ Tyrion said. ‘Although, it seemed a little more life and death when we were actually there. I guess it’s true what they say about a screen removing you from the action.’ 

‘They shouldn’t have let it go on so long,’ Jaime said. ‘Surely people on Twitter aren’t happy about that?’ 

Bronn shrugged. ‘They agree it shouldn’t have gone on as long as it did, but some of them seem to think Melisandre deserved it after what she did. They feel sorry for Selyse.’ It was pitying, seeing her crying as she was led away. 

Shae was on screen again, this time rolling her eyes. 

Gilly and Ygritte were next. Their fight lasted all of five seconds, but Jaime was glad of it. He didn’t want to see another take down. 

Margaery and Yara were next, and Jaime was admiring their skills, when he blinked. Yara seemed to have just turned slightly, to make sure that Margaery’s punch landed on her. 

‘Are they...faking?’ Jaime asked. He squinted, then nodded. The two women had shared a grin, a brief connection between them. ‘They are.’ 

‘How strange,’ Tyrion said. ‘I didn’t notice that, and I was sitting right next to them.’ He looked impressed. 

Jaime had noticed the F&F at the side, cheering on the women. He’d also noticed the small pile of money in front of them. His brother had a habit of turning everything into a bet. 

Daenerys and Missandei stood on their chairs, doing a little cheer in support of Yara. 

‘Is there much more to come?’ Jaime asked. The show was only an hour and a half long but it felt longer. The fights were okay, but sitting through this many of them would bore anyone. 

‘Two more fights, I believe,’ Tyrion said. ‘Whatever they want to fill the next part up with, and then the vote off. If you don’t want to watch you can always go to bed. I’ll text you who gets voted off. Oh, I almost forgot.’ Tyrion leaned over to the bag he’d slung against the sofa when he’d come in, taking out a bundle of photos. ‘Just so we can keep track.’ He laid the 20 photos out on the table, making sure all the corners lined up. 

Jaime felt like two of the photos were staring at him, and he kept his eyes glued to the screen. 

‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ll stay up. I’d like to know who goes, and we all know Cersei will be asking for a full report when we next speak.’ 

‘What are you going to tell her?’ Tyrion asked. 

‘Nothing of importance,’ Jaime said. The truth with Cersei was a fine line, and he was always toeing it. Sometimes he went a little over it, one way or the other, but he’d always been able to fight his way back. 

On screen Sansa and Shae were fighting it out. Jaime pulled in a sharp breath when a bloom of blood appeared on Sansa’s cheek. ‘If we keep this up, her father’s going to storm the house and carry her out. Didn’t Petyr make sure Sansa was safe?’ 

‘Sansa was safe,’ Tyrion said. ‘Shae’s not a bad person, she just let the producers get in her head.’ 

‘You almost sound like you’re defending her,’ Jaime said. Tyrion shrugged. 

‘She was upset and we spoke briefly afterwards. And I daresay Petyr is doing what he can to discredit her; haven’t you seen how she’s coming across?’ 

He had. 

There was only one fight left, and Jaime felt his curiosity growing. With Cersei out of the running, who would Brienne be fighting? 

Loras? He did his fair share of fights, Jaime knew. But Brienne would beat him in a heartbeat, and with leaving Brienne till last he had a feeling this was what the episode had been leading up to. 

Varys was talking on screen, and then...‘Brienne vs...The Hound.’ 

‘Shit,’ Jaime said. He almost wanted to laugh. ‘That’s not even going to be a fight.’ 

‘You don’t think?’ Tyrion said, mildly. 

‘I know Brienne is big, and she obviously works out,’ he said, ignoring the image of her legs that flashed through his mind. ‘But I’ve seen The Hound fight. And he doesn’t go down easy.’ 

There was a comment on screen about none of the other girl’s being in Brienne’s weight bracket, and Brienne paused for a split second before continuing on her way to the ring. Her eyes were hard, and she seemed to tense the closer she got to The Hound. The camera flashed to Shae who was smirking, the women either side of her smiling too. It hadn’t sounded like Shae had made the comment...but Jaime would believe it. 

Next to him, Tyrion scowled deeper. 

As soon as the bell rang, signalling the start of the fight, Brienne seemed to forget where she was. She didn’t blush when Margaery and Sansa stood up and started cheering for her, or when Bronn made a dirty comment about what he’d like her to do to him, from beside the ring. 

Jaime couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. Brienne was a good fighter, although she seemed to be holding herself back a little; the punches were too controlled, her body was too tense. 

‘She’s good,’ he muttered to the room, then winced when The Hound landed a punch on her. That was unlucky. 

The Hound landed another punch, and Brienne hit the floor, but she was smart. She jumped up, avoiding the low hit he aimed at her. She got him in the face, and Jaime felt like applauding her. Maybe he was wrong. Brienne was doing better then he’d thought she would. 

The microphones seemed amplified, and though Jaime knew nobody had turned the volume up, this fight sounded louder than all the others. Again, and again there was the sound of fists connecting with skin, or cracking bone, and heavy breathing as they stalked each other around the ring mingled with the grunts that Brienne let out with every swing of her fists. 

It was like watching a tennis match; The Hound was winning, and then Brienne was. Jaime couldn’t call it, and he wished he could discuss it with the others in the room; but anything he said would be judged and Tyrion would wonder why he was taking so much interest. He couldn’t let anyone see that this had caught his attention; he was supposed to be above such things. 

That lasted all of two seconds, but he couldn’t contain his low whistle when The Hound kicked Brienne in the shin, spinning her away from him. The camera zoomed in on her face as she leaned over the ropes of the ring, a grim smile spreading on her face. 

She was going to win, Jaime realised. The Hound was tossing his hair from his face, wiping sweat from his forehead, but Brienne’s focus was all on him; Jaime could see nothing else existed in the world for her right now. The rest of the people watching in the gym seemed to be having conversations with their eyes, no one daring to speak. Even Varys seemed a little twitchy; he seemed to be opening and closing his mouth to speak, but then getting too swept away by the action in front of him to actually say anything. 

There was a cry from several of the contestants – and Jaime – when The Hound punched Brienne straight in the jaw, an evil grin on his face. 

‘They can’t let this go on much longer,’ Jaime said, appealing to the room. ‘The Hound is meant to be one of my F&F if he ends up killing a contestant, don’t you think that’s going to look bad?’ 

‘I know Mr Baelish is after drama, but do you think he’d really continue with the show if someone died?’ Pod asked. 

‘You don’t know Petyr,’ Jaime muttered, but he lost the conversation again as Brienne and The Hound wrestled on the floor; she bit one of her gloves off, spitting it onto the floor, and rolling The Hound over, till she was on top of him. 

Both of them were sweating, their hair sticking to their heads. Brienne was red all over, but it just seemed to make her glow; Jaime couldn’t take his eyes off her, and he knew that everyone else in the room was watching too, even though they’d been there to see it happen. Bronn and Pod had put their phones down, and even Tyrion was forgetting to drink. 

There was blood dropping to the floor around them, streaming from Brienne’s nose, and The Hound’s cut lip. Brienne had crawled off him now, lying on her back, and Jaime was mentally begging her to get up; she didn’t seem to be moving, but The Hound was getting to his feet, staring down at her... 

‘Someone has got to stop this!’ Jaime shouted, as The Hound brought his foot down on Brienne’s leg, kicking her twice. He didn’t want to watch anymore; this was a brutal take down. This wasn’t fun. 

The Hound had Brienne pinned against the floor, and was about to bring his fist down; it would all be over. 

Except...except Brienne, Jaime thought wildly. He’d been right; she wasn’t going to let The Hound win. She’d grasped his wrist, twisting it, then pushed him aside, off her, and jumped up. They were standing again now, the blood a river down Brienne’s face. 

The Hound was slowing as they aimed punches at each other again. His were landing wider, and he didn’t seem to want to take as many risks as before; Jaime understood when Brienne darted forward, landing a punch on his shoulder; The Hound swayed a little when she caught him. 

Brienne wiped under her nose, seeming surprised when she saw the blood that came away from her face if the way she frowned was anything to go by. 

There were more punches thrown, and the rest of the contestants were screaming once again, all of them begging Varys, Loras or Renly to do something. Renly and Loras kept attempting to duck into the ring, but The Hound and Brienne were moving too fast; they didn’t want to get punched, they just wanted to stop this. 

Renly was about to duck in again, when Loras placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head; he said something to him, and though Renly looked doubtful, he took a step back. Yara and Ygritte were on their chairs, screaming at them, and Margaery and Sansa were right up next to Varys, gesturing, furious looks on their faces. Tyrion and Pod were standing, staring into the ring, worry etched on every line of their faces. 

The only people who looked calm and unbothered were Cersei – who seemed to be talking with Bronn – and Shae, who was still sitting in her chair, examining her nails. 

‘They’ve cut that in,’ Tyrion said, disgusted. ‘She was worried right along with the rest of them. She might not have been as vocal, but she wasn’t ignoring them.’ 

Brienne was boxing The Hound, around his head, again and again and again, till he was backed into a corner, his arms raised in order to fend her off. 

She swept his legs out from under him, waiting with her foot placed on his chest. One. Two. Three. 

Loras rang the bell, signalling the fight was over. 

Jaime couldn’t help his grin. Brienne had won! And won well. Both of them looked a little worse for wear, and Jaime knew they’d both be littered with bruises. 

He almost felt like clapping. 

‘You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?’ The Hound said on screen. He pushed Brienne off him, and sat, leaning against the ropes, groaning a little, and holding his side. 

‘Yeah,’ Brienne said. ‘But I’m the fucking bitch who beat you.’ 

And then Jaime felt his heart stutter. Brienne smiled, her too big lips spreading across her face as she grinned down. Her eyes seemed alight with a fire that burned from within, dimming the blue of the ropes surrounding her. 

A group surrounded Brienne then, but the chatter faded as the screen cut to Varys, standing outside the gym. 

‘What happened?’ Jaime asked. ‘Is Brienne alright?’ 

‘We have now reached the end of part two of this week’s episode,’ Varys was saying. ‘And we would like to take a moment to say that nobody has been seriously harmed during today’s fights. We would like to stress that caution was taken to make sure everyone taking part was safe and well looked after, but nobody can predict what will happen when two seasoned fighters get into a ring together. In the next part, we’ll be speaking to the ladies to see their reflections on their fights, and how they feel about the first vote off!’ 

The numbers for each of the women flashed up onscreen, before the adverts came on. 

‘Well?’ Jaime demanded, turning to his brother. ‘Is Brienne alright?’ 

‘Of course, she’s alright,’ Tyrion said. ‘I know you might not trust Petyr, but you can trust me. I wouldn’t have let anything happen.’ 

‘You let her get into the ring with The Hound,’ Jaime pointed out. His heart rate was only just slowing down. 

‘Yes,’ Tyrion said. ‘When Petyr rang, saying they’d had an issue and needed someone to fight, he was the obvious choice. He used to do a little boxing when he was younger. And he seemed up for it, when he found out he’d be fighting Brienne; I didn’t realise it was because he disliked her. I never would have let that happen, had I known.’ 

‘What are people saying?’ Jaime asked, turning to Bronn. ‘Are they boycotting the show? They should be, after that.’ 

Bronn whistled as he scrolled down his phone. 

‘There’s a lot of love for her,’ he said. ‘Not a lot for The Hound; people are calling for him to be removed. A lot of people saying this is nothing like the US version.’ He gave a short bark of laughter. 

‘What’s funny?’ Tyrion asked. ‘We asked you to read them out to us. Please, do share the joke.’ 

‘It’s hard to explain,’ Bronn said. ‘There’s a lot of meme action going on, and you kind of have to see the reaction picture to understand why it’s funny.’ 

Tyrion and Jaime stared at him blankly. 

‘Fuck’s sake,’ he muttered. ‘Explaining memes to the Lannister's.’ 

‘Here,’ Pod said, thrusting his phone under their faces. ‘See, this one, where it says ‘Varys, when he put Melisandre and Selyse in the ring together, despite knowing their history,’ and then underneath there’s a photo of the Pokémon Pikachu with a shocked face?’ 

Jaime did see. 

Jaime did not understand. 

‘Right,’ Tyrion said. ‘Never mind. The general gist of what Twitter is saying will do.’ Pod took his phone back, muttering to himself. 

‘Now, let me concentrate,’ Bronn said. He turned to his computer. ‘This is the part you’re actually paying me for.’ 

The One was back. The next part had each of the women sit down in a chair, in their den, talking to the camera about how they were feeling. 

Jaime didn’t care. Even Cersei couldn’t hold his attention, with her banal words; she was nervous. She wanted to stay; she liked Jaime. She was having fun bonding with the other girls, and it would be tough to say goodbye to five of them. She hated that she hadn’t been able to take part in task one, but she hoped she’d get to show her worth in the next one. 

They left Brienne till last. She shuffled into the frame, then sat down, right on the edge of the seat. The camera panned back to show her face, and Jaime gasped; there was a blackish blue bruise forming along the bottom of her jaw. Another smallish bruise up by her temple. And one peeking out from the collar of her t-shirt. 

‘I’m feeling okay,’ Brienne said. ‘There are twenty of us here, and we all know only one can win. To want anything at this stage feels a little ridiculous. That being said, I am having a good time here. I didn’t think I would. I’m a little awkward around people but the women here are lovely.’ She paused. ‘Well, most of them anyway.’ She gave a tiny grin, a blush spreading over her face. ‘No, I mean everyone is lovely, obviously, but I just haven’t got to know some of them as well as the others. They were so kind to me after our day at the gym.’ Her fingers twitched at the last words, like she was having to hold herself back from making quotation marks. ‘I know what it must have looked like on screen, and I’ve been asked to tell everyone that I’m okay. I’m okay.’ She gestured to herself. ‘A little worse for wear, but no permanent harm done. I’m sure you can tell that my nose has been broken; three times in fact, and two of those were from other fights. One of those was actually Loras Tyrell; and we’re,’ she paused again. ‘Friendly. We’re friendly. When you’re in the ring, sometimes the tension just builds and sometimes all you want is a win. I don’t blame The Hound for wanting to beat me. I guess I just wanted to beat him more.’ She let out a smaller version of that blinding smile again. 

‘I never had Brienne down for someone who’d make sure a big speech,’ Bronn said. ‘She seemed quiet to me.’ 

‘She is,’ Pod said. ‘But they filmed this the day after the gym, and she was dosed up on painkillers. I doubt she even remembers it.’ 

‘And how do you know that?’ Tyrion asked, turning to him. 

‘I went to check on her,’ Pod said. ‘Nobody said I couldn’t and I wanted to see how she was.’ 

‘You really are the best of us,’ Tyrion said, after a pause. 

Jaime shifted around a little. Pod was the best of them, that was true, and it made him uncomfortable. He preferred to surround himself with people who had worse morals than him; people like Bronn and his brother, who, while not downright disgraceful, still said or did things he could feel righteous about looking down on. 

He liked his high horse, and Podrick Payne made him feel like he’d been dropped from it. 

Brienne was still speaking. ‘I’m a big girl,’ she said. ‘And I gave as good as I got. The Hound isn’t feeling too hot this morning either, from what I hear. I can take whatever it is people want to throw at me.’ 

The screen faded, and the next lot of adverts came on. This was it. Three minutes and they’d be going live at the house, saying goodbye to the first five women. 

It must be madness over there, Jaime thought. Everyone rushing about, trying to make sure everything was ready and in place. The girl’s begging for one last go over with the make-up brush, or telling each other it would all be okay, and they’d do great. 

Silence filled the room as The One came back on. Varys was standing in the garden, facing a semi-circle of women. All of them were dressed in dark jeans, dark boots, and a black t-shirt. 

Jaime's eyes sought Brienne out first, noting the fading greenish yellow bruise on her jaw, and the tiny one on her temple. You couldn’t see the one on her collarbone with this t-shirt. 

And there was Cersei, next to her. Both of them looked imposing, these two, who seemed to be total opposites. Brienne was stone faced, staring at Varys as he explained to everyone how these vote offs worked, Cersei with just a hint of a smile playing around her red lips. 

‘In a moment, twenty of our ravens,’ Varys said, pulling a girl from the shadows next to him, and getting her to twirl so everyone could see the pair of fluffy black wings she wore on her back – she too, was dressed all in black to match the contestants - ‘will take their place behind each of our contestants. Each of them will have a cloak – five black, the rest white. They will drape it around the woman standing in front of them, and then step back. When we inform them, our contestants will open their eyes, and see their cloak for the first time. Those in black have been eliminated and will be out of the running to marry this year’s suitor; Jaime Lannister. Those fifteen in white will remain till next week. Now, let’s see if you’ve done enough to save your favourite. Ladies; eyes closed, please.’ 

As if a plug had been pulled, and they’d all been powered down, the women closed their eyes. ‘And now; ravens, if you would.’ Like a shadow, a stream of darkness filed out, splitting in different directions until each of the contestants had a figure behind them. In the darkening night sky, you could only really see their wings; and you couldn’t see what colour cloak any of them were holding. 

‘The contestants are standing over a small light in the grass,’ Tyrion said. ‘They turn it up to full brightness for the start so you can see who is where, and then dim it, so you can only really see half their shadows, and nothing of those who stand behind them. Clever little trick, really.’ 

‘Hmm,’ Jaime said. He didn’t care. The screen was focused on Varys now as he told the ravens to fasten the cloaks. 

‘Now ladies, you may open your eyes,’ Varys said. The camera swung, showing all the contestants. The ravens had flown back to where they’d come from; Jaime’s eyes, just like everybody else watching the show, swung between the five black cloaks he could see standing out among the white. 

After a second, the black cloaks moved forward, coming to form a smaller circle in front of the larger one, the camera swooping in for a close up of their faces. 

‘Well,’ Tyrion said, sliding from the sofa, and walking to the table. He picked up five of the photos he’d laid out earlier, then ripped them all down the middle. ‘Only fourteen more to go.’


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am so sorry for the long stretch between chapters but I like to have the next one written before I post and they just keep getting away from me! Anyhow, I hope this chapter is enough to keep you going because I have a feeling the chapter I'm about to start writing (chapter ten) is going to be llooonnggg..... 
> 
> Slight warning; there's a death scene in this chapter. Putting the warning here, just in case someone needs it. 
> 
> Also, this is the chapter where the tags come into play. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Brienne could feel the cloak settling around her shoulders. She was used to the heavy material now, as it draped her sides; they’d spent all day practicing. Five contestants at a time had received the black cloaks and had had to walk forward, pretending they’d been eliminated. 

It had been fun earlier. They’d all laughed, and messed around, pretending to trip as they stepped forward, or to break down in hysterics when they’d been voted out. They’d gotten in trouble for that, but it hadn’t stopped the mood from spreading to everyone, infecting them with laughter and general uselessness. 

They’d calmed down now. With cameras all around, those little red recording lights blinking in sync, Varys standing in front of them. The sky was navy, the first few stars coming out to watch. As the minutes to the elimination had grown closer and closer everyone had become more silent, more tense. Even those who didn’t care if they went home, were showing their nerves; Yara had picked a little red patch on her arm, Sansa had become more and more blank faced as the seconds ticked down, and Gilly’s skirt was so creased at the front she’d been instructed to place her hands over the spot so it wouldn’t show on camera. 

Brienne liked this moment. When everything was quiet, when the wind was a gentle breeze blowing her hair back and bringing the scent of the garden to her nose. When her eyes were closed and she was going home any moment. 

‘Now ladies, you can open your eyes,’ Varys said, and Brienne gave it a second before opening hers. She’d wanted that moment to last as long as possible; it was the calmest she’d felt here. 

The first thing she did was look straight at the end of the line, taking in the white cloak next to her – Cersei was through, obviously, a gloating smile on her face – to see Sansa’s disappointment as she swung the white cloak back behind her so she didn't have to see it. The cloaks all had a red lining, and to see the outside colour, you needed to pull them forward.  
Margaery’s was white too. 

Brienne felt a dart of shock as she saw the blackness of Osha’s and Pia’s cloaks, as she watched them dart forward to take their place in front of the main circle. Neither of them seemed upset, or even surprised to have been voted off. 

Before she took the step forward to join them, Brienne glanced at the other side of the circle, wondering who made up the first elimination. 

Selyse and Shae took a step forward, their black cloaks billowing around them. Selyse was staring at the ground, but Shae had her chin held up. Brienne felt the tiniest bit sorry for them; their attacks hadn’t gone unpunished, and while she didn’t blame the general public for voting them out, she still couldn't think of it as anything other than an unfair situation. 

There was a rustle from the end of the line, and Jeyne darted out to join the four in front, making five. 

Five. 

Only five of the contestants were leaving...and there were five black cloaks standing in front of Brienne. That couldn’t be right. 

Brienne turned, yanking her cloak forward so she could see for herself what colour she was draped in. 

There was only one it could be; and yet, she was still shocked to see the whiteness staring back at her. She was through. She’d made it another week. 

There wasn’t hope in Brienne’s chest; after all she still didn’t want to marry Jaime Lannister; but there was a little excitement. She’d had fun this week, even getting the shit kicked out of her. Spending time with the others was fun. 

Brienne swallowed down the lump in her throat, a buzzing in her ears blocking out the final words Varys was chiding out of the eliminated contestants. The public had seen something in her, something worth saving. There were a few people out there who obviously wanted to see more of her. Who’d spent their money on saving her this week. 

Who liked her, despite the face she had to put out there. 

‘And that’s all for this week on The One!’ Varys said, clapping his hands together. ‘Join us at the same time next week to see the fifteen remaining ladies take part in Task Two; and to find out who will reach the Top Ten!’ 

There was a three second pause where they’d been warned not to speak or move, before someone yelled ‘cut’ and the garden plunged into semi-darkness as the lights and cameras turned off. 

* 

Brienne sipped from the plastic coffee cup, then suppressed a sigh as a producer signaled for her to turn it around so the logo would be facing the camera. She was fast becoming addicted to this brand’s vanilla latte, but she was wishing she could just pay for the coffee instead of receiving it for free and then having to endorse the brand to the camera. She’d have to get up a little earlier tomorrow so she wouldn’t still be drinking when they came into the den. 

Today was the start of Task Two. After their morning routine, the fifteen women had been called into the den. They’d spent most of Sunday in here as well, each of them having their moment in the chair so they could talk about how they were feeling now the other girls had gone. 

It had made the group feel a lot smaller. Even though the five girls who had left had been – for the most part – quiet, and hadn’t bonded with anyone quite as much as the others had, there were five noticeable gaps now. Each of the woman had their own thing – Shae's dark brooding at the edge of the group, Osha’s barbed comments when she thought she was being slighted, Pia’s music that drifted through the walls until the early morning, Selyse’s way of making sure she was never nearer Melisandre than she had to be or just Jeyne’s general presence – and Brienne found that she missed all of them. 

They hadn’t had much of a chance to say goodbye. They’d been given only five minutes before the five eliminated contestants had been told to leave the premises and that taxi’s were waiting just outside the house to take them back to their homes. Back to normal. 

Brienne had felt a pang as she’d watched them go. She’d been dreaming about curling up in her own bed for days. Of calling her father and hearing his voice, and his laugh. She’d wanted to talk to him about the date that was coming up; make arrangements, even though she knew he was currently out of the country. Now she’d have to get through the day here. 

‘Ladies, in position please,’ shouted Sam Tarly. He was backed up against a wall, speaking to Gilly and trying to stay out of sight of the cameras. There had been a moment earlier when Ygritte, Melisandre and surprisingly, Daenerys had burst into one of Jon Snow’s lesser known songs ‘You Are My Queen,’ and Sam had been behind them – he'd ducked down to the floor, crawling away. The moment would make a great bit of filler for the website, but a stranger in the background would take people away from the reality of the reality show. 

With five women gone, only five had to stand behind the sofa. Brienne took her place, in the middle once again, pointedly ignoring the huff of annoyance Cersei gave below her. She liked it here. Ygritte and Yara took one side of her, and then Sansa and Margaery the other. 

‘I’d thought you two would be on the sofa,’ Ygritte said to them. ‘Front runners like you.’ 

Margaery shrugged. ‘I’d rather stand with my friends than get to sit down for five minutes.’ She whispered to Brienne, ‘plus Grandmother text and said when I was sitting, I was either slouching or sitting like there was a rod up my backside. I thought it much better to stand this week.’ 

‘And I made it through the first week,’ Sansa said. Her eyes had been a little downcast since Saturday night, and she’d stopped with the pretty dresses and styled hair; today she was in a black dress with a Peter Pan style collar, with her hair in a low ponytail. ‘I’m obviously doing something wrong if the public still think I should be here. I need to make more of an effort to show I want to go home.’ 

‘You’re going to make more of an effort to make less of an effort?’ Yara asked. She nodded. ‘I like it.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Sansa smiled. ‘Let’s just hope it works.’ 

‘When everyone’s finished talking, I would love to hear what task Jaime has for us this week,’ Cersei said. ‘I can’t wait to take part.’ 

Suitable hushed, the women settled down, all staring at the blank screen. There had been no hints provided to them this week. Everyone had been racking their brains trying to come up with something they might have missed, but they’d pretty much been left to their own devices since the day at the gym. Now that the show was airing the producers were spending less time with them, talking into their ears. 

Margaery hadn’t had any clues either. She knew Jaime had had to submit the tasks before the series started, but the women in the contest hadn’t need to apply for the show; they’d been approached. Sure, there had been a few screen tests, mainly to make sure they didn’t freeze up in front of the camera, and to check they would be pliable to orders, but there had been no application form to give them a clue of what was to come. 

The screen flickered to life, and there were Jaime and Varys. Jaime was wearing a green shirt that brought out the colour of his eyes. He looked tired. If there were bags under his eyes, they’d been covered with make-up, but there was something in his expression; he didn’t seem to be enjoying this any more than the women were. 

Varys welcomed everyone, then clapped his hands and turned towards Jaime. 

‘I believe you have something special to show us?’ Varys asked, and Brienne felt a little spike in her interest as one of the shows ‘ravens’ came into the room, carrying a sword. ‘Would you like to tell us about it?’ 

‘It’s my sword,’ Jaime said. He was tracing the blade, a soft expression on his face. Every pretense had dropped from his face, and it was only now that Brienne could see how much he’d been acting in these videos. He told them about the sword, the swell of tears easy to hear at the back of his throat. The sword was beautiful, little ridges of metal around the handle, and a sapphire set in the hilt. 

When Jaime started talking about his mother, Brienne felt a soft smile on her face. His mother sounded like a good person, and it was easy to see that he missed her; Brienne, who’s own mother had passed too, felt the ever-familiar ache that never really left. 

Then she remembered what day it was two days from now, and had to swallow the lump in her own throat. The task. She needed to find out what it was. 

‘You’ve heard what I’d save from a burning building; now it’s time to show me yours. What is your most prized possession? The one material thing that brings you the most joy in the world? You never know. One day yours might just be hanging next to mine on the wall,' Jaime said before the screen faded to black. 

Petyr Baelish stepped in front of the women, his usual chilling smirk on his face. Brienne hadn’t even seen him come into the room. 

‘Ladies,’ he said. ‘You’ve heard the man. Your most prized possession. You have from now until tonight at 7pm to tell us what it is. We will collect your items and bring them back here.’ He made no mention of how he’d do that, and Brienne wondered. She’d left all her personal items in the office building at the ‘Littlefinger’ headquarters when she’d come here. Her purse, her phone, her house keys. It had seemed natural at the time, but now it was obvious that it meant people had access to her home. 

They wouldn’t go in, would they? Either to try and find something they could sell to the media for articles, or just to get a better feel for what would make her tick, to try and get some action out of her? 

But that was stupid. And, she was sure, illegal. She’d read the contact pretty carefully, and though she knew there was no getting out of it, she was sure she hadn’t signed away her personal items for them to root through at will. ‘Once you have decided what item you will be showing the world, you are to grab a cameraman, and make yourself comfortable as you talk about it. Do not tell us what it is on camera; just give a few hints about what the item is, and why you’ve chosen it. Do you all understand? Excellent. Then I hope you inspire us, ladies, which means nothing dull like a mobile phone, or a laptop; remember we’re making a TV show here. We’ll film five of your items each day, and it will be a first come, first served basis.’ He swept from the room then, leaving the doors open behind him. 

Nobody had told them they couldn’t leave; some of the women were already grabbing a cameraman, and settling themselves right on the floor; Myranda had grabbed Ramsay and Gilly was still talking to Sam, twisting something around in her hands, staring at the floor. Yara had dashed off and was leaning against the wall talking into a camera, looking the most excited Brienne had ever seen her. 

Almost like it had been some unspoken thing between them, Margaery, Sansa, Brienne, and Ellaria moved towards the doors. Nobody called out to them, telling them to stay, and their steps picked up until they were finally in the garden. 

‘His prized possession is a sword?’ Sansa scoffed. ‘Do you really mean to tell me he’d grab it from wherever it’s stashed in his house to save it from a fire?’ 

‘I thought it was pretty cool,’ Brienne shrugged. She shook her head at the looks on Sansa and Margaery’s faces. ‘I’m not saying I like him, because I don’t. But I thought he’d have something a little more...materialistic. A signed photo of himself and someone famous, or something that related to the Lannister Business, like an award.’ 

‘I did feel quite sorry for him,’ Ellaria said. ‘The memories of his mother are obviously quite hard on him.’ 

‘That never really goes away,’ Brienne mused. ‘But it’s nice that he’s got something to remember her by.’ 

‘Your mother too?’ Ellaria asked. Brienne nodded. 

‘Almost nine years ago now,’ she said. ‘But it was long illness and we were expecting it.’ In truth, when her mother had passed, it had been a relief; she wouldn’t be in pain anymore, struggling through each day, staying on because she had no other way to go. Brienne had hated that she’d felt relief at the passing of one of her parents, and she’d been so angry for a long time. Only fighting and throwing herself into being her father’s heir had helped her come out of her funk. 

‘I never knew my parents,’ Ellaria said. ‘I grew up in and out of homes. What about you two?’ she asked, turning to Sansa and Margaery. 

‘Both parents still alive and, well, if not happy all the time, at least they are with each other,’ Sansa said. ‘We do have a high number of near-death experiences though.’ 

‘I’m not really sure about mine,’ Margaery said. ‘Grandmother raised me and Loras. Our father is around, but he’s a little absent minded. Better left to his own devices which seem to be travelling the world and making as many friends as he can according to the photos he posts on Facebook. We don’t really talk about my mother.’ She flapped her hands at Ellaria who was looking at her sadly. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me. My Grandmother more than makes up for it. She’s the best parent I could wish for.’ 

‘So what are you going to do for the task?’ Brienne asked. The weak sunlight shone down on them, and Brienne pulled the blue jumper she was wearing off, leaving her in a white t-shirt. 

‘I have an idea,’ Margaery said, a cunning look on her face. ‘But I’ll have to talk to -,’ she hesitated as a cameraman passed by them, heading into the den, ‘someone before I go ahead with it. Sansa, what about you?’ 

‘I’m not sure,’ Sansa said. She looked very young today, Brienne thought. ‘I think going materialistic is the way to go. He’s got something with a very personal backstory; so, I’ll have something that people can literally buy in the shops.’ 

‘It’ll have to be something high end, though,’ Margaery said. ‘You can’t just show up with any old tat.’ 

‘No,’ Sansa said, her gaze on Brienne. ‘I had something more high-class than that in mind.’ 

There was an unspoken communication between then, and Brienne nodded. Sansa had to do what Sansa had to do. And it would be fine. 

Probably. 

‘Well, I know what I’m doing,’ Ellaria said. ‘Nothing. I don’t believe in material possessions. Things and people come in and out of your life. Why give your heart to something that will eventually break, or end up lost? Everything is replaceable.’ The others nodded. Brienne could see the sense in her words, but she also knew it was a little bit of bullshitting; Ellaria had obviously given her heart away to this mysterious lover she always spoke about. It was a great bit of wisdom to live by, if you could; but, at the same time, Brienne didn’t care about people loving material things. If they made them happy, or showed who they were to others, wasn’t that something to be grateful for? ‘And you?’ Ellaria asked. ‘What are you going to show to the nation?’ 

‘Oh,’ Brienne said. ‘I think even Mr Baelish will like this.’ 

* 

The next morning, while the contestants were sitting around the large kitchen table, having their breakfast, there was a ring on the door. Ygritte went to answer it, and when she came back, Sam Tarly was following, his face red. 

Brienne felt a little sorry for the man; with his general air of embarrassment, he was easy pickings for someone like Ygritte. She didn’t want to know what the red-head had said to him in the two minutes they were alone together. 

‘Good morning ladies,’ he said. There was a sheaf of papers in his hands, and he handed one to each of the women, mumbling his apologies as he knocked a milk jug with his elbow, or trapped some of Ros’s hair in his armpit while leaning over and attempting to clean his mess up. ‘This is just a list of how things will run over the next few days. I know Petyr told you it would be a first come, first served basis but because of some of the items, we’ve had to switch it around a bit,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.’ When nothing happened except fifteen pairs of eyes blinked back at him, he leaned over Gilly who was nearest to him, and pointed to the stream of names on the paper. ‘We already have today’s items and most of tomorrow’s are on their way. We’re having a little bit of difficulty with one of them, but I’m sure we’ll figure something out.’ Yara grinned around the table at that. She’d been very quiet about what her item was, although most of them had stayed up late last night playing a guessing game. Twenty questions to try and figure out each other’s items; if someone guessed, you had to tell them; if nobody did, it would be a surprise. Yara and Margaery had refused to play, although they’d sat in on the game, whispering questions in the other’s contestants ears since they weren’t supposed to be playing at all. ‘The weather is supposed to be good all week,’ Sam continued. He was very close to Gilly now, but she didn’t seem to mind; if anything, she was leaning forward, and staring up at him with wide eyes. ‘Which means we’ll be filming in the garden. Petyr’s got ideas for everything to make all your items look amazing, and to make sure each one stands out. Filming will start in an hour.’ There was a screech at that, women scarfing down the cereal left in their bowls, and running from the room to get camera ready. 

Brienne, who never liked to come downstairs without being dressed, looked down at her sheet of paper. Roslin, Melisandre, Myranda, Ygritte and Cersei would get their items today. Yara, Ros, Margaery, Talisa and Brienne would be tomorrow. Ellaria, Sansa, Daenerys, Missandei and Gilly were on the final day. 

‘Does that mean my item is outside now?’ Roslin asked, worried. ‘It’s very delicate, it can’t be out in the sun for this long. The lace will be ruined!’ 

‘I assure you the greatest care is being taken with each of your items,’ Sam said. He stood up, looking around at all of them, making sure to meet their gazes. ‘Nothing will be lost, or broken, or damaged. We understand the trust you are placing in us; not only at letting us get these items for you in the first place, but by showing them off to the world.’ 

He sounded like he’d swallowed the FAQ section on the handbook they’d all been given when they signed up to the show; there was a whole part about bringing personal items into the house like clothes, and jewelry. ‘Does anyone else have any questions?’ he asked. ‘I’ll leave you all to get ready,’ he said, heading for the door when no one did. Gilly was quick to jump to her feet, saying she’d see him out. 

Once they’d gone, Margaery raised an eyebrow. 

‘Well, isn’t that sweet,’ she said. Then she caught Cersei’s questioning gaze. ‘Sam is such a sweet boy. I feel sorry for him working under Petyr. I can’t imagine that’s a fun job.’ 

‘Excuse me ladies,’ Cersei said, standing up, and sweeping to the door. ‘I have to get ready.’ There was a smile on her face as she glided from the room. 

‘She doesn’t mean she has to get changed, does she?’ Ygritte asked, flicking her spoon at Cersei’s back. The girl’s opposite flinched as flecks of yogurt landed on them. ‘I mean, she was wearing one of her stupid dresses already wasn’t she? Do you really think she’s going to perform a costume change before 10am?’ She whistled under her breathe. ‘She must have brought more dresses than I own clothes.’ 

‘You’ve gone for a slightly different look today, I see,’ Margaery said, turning to Brienne. 

‘These are the clothes the wardrobe department gave to me before the show started,’ Brienne said. She was hoping that nobody would have noticed; hoping that she’d done enough to downplay the look she was going for over the next three days. ‘It just seemed to fit for this task.’ She trailed a finger over the silver studs on the black skinny jeans she was wearing that decorated the pockets. In truth, she’d never worn skinny jeans in her life. 

But after all the compliments she’d received on her legs at the last task, she’d decided why the hell not? If she had something that could draw attention away from her face, then she’d be stupid not to use it. 

She’d teamed the jeans with black boots, and a white t-shirt. She’d almost added the silver necklace and bracelet she’d been given, but she couldn’t bring herself to in the end. She didn’t wear stuff like that; a simple watch was the only piece she wore, and even then, she forgot that half the time. 

‘Well I like it,’ Sansa declared. ‘Although, if you let me do your make-up; just a tad more dramatic with a smoky eye, and...’ she trailed off at the look Brienne was giving her. Brienne had fought hard for the team to let her do her own make-up every day. She didn’t want one of the make-up artists at her beck and call. Even now, she knew the stylist team were arriving at the house; they had their own little trailer at the edge of the garden, hidden from the cameras. The women could go there when and if they needed to. 

Brienne had vowed to never step foot in there. As long as she didn’t appear too natural in front of the camera, they’d let her be. 

‘I like your new look too,’ Margaery said to Sansa. ‘There’s a lot of black there too.’ 

‘Well, I’ve decided to officially show I’m in mourning,’ Sansa said. Today was another black dress, this one with a lace ballerina skirt and a cinched in waist. ‘But since I would actually rather die than just rock up in jeans and a t-shirt, I needed to show I’d given up a different way; as long as I stay in this contest, I will only wear black.’ 

‘There’s nothing wrong with jeans and a t-shirt,’ said Yara, pointing her spoon in Sansa’s direction; although hers, unlike Ygritte’s had been, was clean. ‘Which is why that’s all I plan to wear for as long as I stay in this contest.’ 

‘What if another task calls for it?’ Ygritte asked. ‘You never know, you might end up wearing a white wedding dress.’ 

‘I would literally actually die if it came to that,’ Sansa said, shock crossing her face. The thought was a sobering one to everyone at the table; one of the fifteen women left in this contest would be wearing a white wedding dress at the end of the show. 

‘We should go and get in our positions,’ Yara said as the girls at the other end of the table started to get up and head towards the door. ‘I just know we’d hate to miss the start of the fun.’ 

* 

There were white chairs grouped around a draped podium, which the contestants settled into. Roslin was kept standing to the right, the girl’s a semi-circle around her. 

Brienne leaned forward in her chair; she was interested to get a little look inside these girl’s heads. What was important to them? What made their hearts swell, and put a smile on their face? 

‘Excellent, I see we’re all ready to go,’ Varys said, striding towards them. Brienne kind of forgot he’d be coming today. ‘I’m very excited to get to know you all a little better, although I hear a few items are giving our chaps the run around.’ He looked at Yara as he said this, who smiled blandly back at him. ‘Well, it’ll make a great show.’ 

‘And isn’t that what we all want?’ Yara said. ‘A great show.’ 

‘How wonderful,’ Varys said, clapping his hands together. 'To know everyone's on the same page.' His robes today were a deep blue, several shades darker than the blue stretch of sky behind him. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen. 

Brienne was glad she’d put a heavy foundation on today. If she was going to spend so much time out in the sunlight, her freckles would darken, giving the impression she’d been dotted all over by a young child with a felt tip. 

There were a lot of her features Brienne could hate; but she hated her freckles most of all. ‘Now, ladies, I’ll just give you a brief overview on how these segments will run; each of you will stand next to your item. I’ll give my little speech to the camera, and then you’ll talk about your item for a few seconds. A little more detail than you gave yesterday, before you unveil the item and then tell us everything about it? Understand?’ Everyone nodded their head. ‘Excellent!’ 

There was a lot more faffing around, and Brienne found her mind drifting again. There was a lot more sitting around and waiting than she’d expected from a reality show. She knew they were heavily edited and that it was difficult to edit just the most important parts into a 90-minute show; but still. 

She wished she was allowed to bring a book with her until they called ‘action’, but she knew it would never be allowed. 

‘And now, over to you, Roslin. Please, tell us some more about your prized possession before we see it!’ 

‘Um, okay,’ Roslin said. She gave a shaky grin to the camera. ‘This belonged to my mother, and it’s the only part of her I have left. My dad didn’t...I mean he’s not...he’s got through a lot of women in his time. Um, anyway, I’m the only child he had with my mother. She didn’t tell me until I was six that he was my father and then we had to go to the courts and get DNA tested and... anyway...she told me because she was sick. And I had to go and live with him and all his other children, who don’t get me wrong some who are great. Some are not so great...but there’re my siblings so I suppose I have to love them all...anyway, my mother died and I was sent off and she gave me a whole bunch of stuff but I lost most of it, or it got stolen, and this is the only thing I managed to hold onto, mainly because I slept with it under my pillow every night.’ Roslin finished in a huge rush. ‘Was that okay?’ she asked Varys. ‘Because I don’t really know what to say.’ 

‘It was perfect,’ he said. ‘Please, unveil your item.’ 

‘Well,’ Roslin said, grasping the white satin cloth, and tugging ‘it’s funny you should say veil.’ The cloth fell to the ground, revealing a dressmaker's mannequin. There, on the head was a gorgeous veil. Tiny white lines were stitched all over it, with a few giant pearls dotted here and there around it. 

Brienne felt herself itching to get closer to it; to have lasted as long as Roslin claimed, the stitching must be exquisite. ‘My mother married shortly after I was born, and this was a gift from her husband to be,’ Roslin said. A camera was being slowly walked around the veil, its lens shooting in and out to get a more detailed look. ‘The marriage didn’t last long, but she said apart from when I was born, it was the happiest day of her life. My mother didn’t have much to give me, but she presented me this the day before she passed, and told me she wished it could bring me all the happiness she’d ever wished for me.’ 

Brienne was sure she wasn’t the only one discreetly wiping away a tear. Roslin was a sweet girl, who more often than not wore her hair in plaited pigtails. She was one of the quietest ones left, but she was also the first to smile at you if you felt a little down, or to offer to help if you needed it. 

‘Thank you for sharing this with us Roslin,’ Varys said. He had a single tear drop fluttering prettily on his lashes, which fell down his cheek when he blinked. ‘And now let’s ask Jaime Lannister’s brother what he thinks about it!’ Varys threw a hand out, gesturing to the house, where none other than Tyrion Lannister was walking down the garden pathway towards them, a grin on his face. 

The whispers from the women picked up; nobody knew Tyrion was coming to judge them. ‘Good day to you, Tyrion,’ Varys said, as a chair was brought over for the younger Lannister to sit in. ‘As the person who knows Jaime best, we thought it would be a great idea to get your input into our ladies prized possessions. I trust you saw Roslin’s emotional speech?’ 

‘I did,’ Tyrion said. ‘Very moving, my dear. And it’s a delightful piece. I don’t know much about fashion, but I do know any lady would be lucky to wear that at her wedding.’ 

‘Thank you, sir,’ Roslin said. She dipped into what might have been a curtsy but was over before anyone could really guess. 

‘And do you think it will look good on the wall next to Jaime’s sword?’ Varys asked. 

There were several snorts from the woman around Brienne and she rolled her eyes, not letting the slight twitch of her lips bloom into a full smile. Some of them still had the humour of thirteen-year-old boys. 

‘It would look splendid,’ Tyrion said. Roslin blushed, and then someone called cut and everyone deflated. 

The next stage was more waiting around as they set up for the next woman; the women were instructed to go and wait in the den, to cool off, or re-do their make-up or to get a drink. People were running all over the garden, bringing the next covered item to the center of the garden. Tyrion had to slink back to the house; he’d be introduced for every item, although Varys would also film a couple of other soundbites to air depending on which direction they chose to go in; what part of each segment they decided to edit Tyrion into. 

When they got back, Melisandre was the one standing. 

‘This had been in my family for several generations,’ she said. ‘It’s been passed down from mother to daughter and if ever sold would probably feed a small village for a year. We used to own a lot of royal jewelry but through the years the collection has dwindled; this one, however will never be sold.’ She tore the red cloth off to reveal the ruby necklace she’d been wearing on their first night. The jewels caught the sun, turning the red stones the colour of blood. 

‘The sapphire and the ruby,’ Tyrion said. ‘Has a nice ring to it.’ 

Next up was Myranda. Her covered item was giant, and low to the ground; no fancy podium for her. 

‘As you all know my father owns the number one dog grooming business in the country,’ she said. She whipped her coloured cloth off, to reveal a brightly painted kennel. ‘And it’s my most prized possession. It will all be mine one day, to run as I see fit.’ 

‘I’m not sure it would fit on the wall,’ Tyrion mused. His gaze flickered around the women for a moment, and then he added, ‘and I’m not sure Jaime is really a dog person. He’s never really been one for animals, in all truthfulness.’ There was a wicked glint in his eye, almost like he was playing a game and had just won. 

‘Is that true?’ Sansa asked, leaning forward. ‘Because I own two horses and my family home is littered with animals. If I were to win this contest,’ her fingers, on full display to the camera crossed themselves on her lap, ‘which obviously everyone knows is what I’m after, I’d want to move a few of them into our house. A couple of cats. A hamster. Maybe even one of my brother’s snakes; there’s one I’ve become rather fond of.’ 

Brienne forced herself to look away at that; she knew the snake Sansa was talking about; the one Bran had christened ‘Petyr’ after an old family friend. 

‘Sansa dear,’ Tyrion said. ‘My brother would do anything his future wife asked of him. He’s a softie at heart.’ 

‘He’s done an excellent job of hiding it,’ Sansa said, then settled back into her seat. Even as the coolness settled into the red-head eyes, Brienne knew it would all be for nothing; there was no way any of that would make the episode. Tyrion talking about Jaime's soft side would look good; Sansa’s barbed comments would not. 

There were only two more items to go, and Brienne already knew what one of them was; Ygritte’s prized possession was a fur cloak. Apparently, Jon Snow had worn several in his video for ‘You Know Nothing,’ as he trudged all over a wintry landscape, staring broodily into the camera. According to Ygritte, he’d grown his hair long just for the video and it had sparked a debate among the fangirls – he looked amazing with long hair, but it always seemed to be a little untidy, whereas with short hair he was definitely the kind of guy you’d take home to meet your parents. 

‘Interesting,’ Tyrion said, once Ygritte had wrapped up her twenty-minute speech about the cloak. Without social media to discuss her love, she’d been bottling up everything she longed to say about the man; and now she had a free rein, she wasn’t going to let anything get in her way. Even Varys’s eyes had glazed over at one point. ‘I’m not sure having another man’s cloak hanging in your house would appeal to even my brother, and he usually lets a lot of things slide when he’s in a relationship.’ 

Only because she was sitting next to her, did Brienne notice Cersei bristle. She’d been gripping the edge of her chair for some time, her knuckles turning white, her cheeks growing hollower as she appeared to bite the inside of them with every comment Tyrion made about Jaime. 

‘Oh,’ Ygritte said quickly, her brow furrowing as she tried to come up with a lie. ‘It’s just a fangirl thing. Or an idol thing if you will. Surely, you’ve got someone famous you admire? Wouldn’t you like something of theirs?’ 

‘Now you mention it there was an actress from the 90s I found quite fascinating,’ Tyrion said. ‘And I do believe I have a pair of her knickers stuffed in the back of a drawer, from our one night together. I don’t usually tend to cuddle with them at night though.’ 

‘That was one time,’ Ygritte said. ‘The first night I got it. I still can’t believe I won the auction. My dad hit the roof when he got his credit card bill, but it was worth it.’ 

When her section wrapped, the women were once more dispatched to the den. Brienne, who was enjoying the afternoon breeze stirring around them, decided to stay in the garden for the break. Being cooped up was already getting to her; might as well enjoy the weather while it lasted. 

As she was standing outside, she noticed a truck pull up in front of the house, and a couple of men emerge from the back. It was a pick-up truck, and she stepped to the side, so she could see what was being unloaded; a small black case covered in ‘FRAGILE’ stickers; a giant cardboard box with the word ‘DANGER’ on it; a blue handbag that made a pang shoot through her; and her prized possession which almost brought tears to her eyes. It was here. It was all in one piece and it gleamed under the afternoon light. She couldn’t wait to get her hands back on it tomorrow. 

‘Don’t worry,’ Varys said, strolling up to her. She was surprised; he seemed to rarely interact with the contestants. ‘All the items will stay for the remaining time in the house. It was so much hassle to get to some of them, to take them back would be a nightmare. Much better just to have the contestants take them when they go.’ There was a lot of shouting coming from the front of the house, and Brienne turned her back on it. She couldn’t be seen to be looking for spoilers. That would ruin half the fun. ‘Plus, somebody read something about personal items making contestants feel tethered to the outside world and not losing their minds, and Petyr seemed to like that idea. Less accusations to level at him.’ 

Brienne vaguely recalled another reality show that ‘Littlefinger’ Productions had brought many years ago. She’d been too young to watch, of course, but the resulting headlines after a contestant had killed themselves had been the talk of the summer. ‘Yours is an interesting choice,’ Varys said. ‘I wouldn’t have expected it.’ 

‘And what would you have expected?’ she asked, curious. 

‘A book, perhaps. A first edition of a Jane Austen or something else terribly clever. Or else a complete throwaway, like a baby blanket.’ 

‘I’m not that boring,’ Brienne said. They were being called back to their places, although nothing had yet been placed in the center of the chairs. 

‘No,’ Varys said, giving her a searching look. ‘Boring you are not.’ 

Brienne settled herself into her chair. This was the last segment for today and then they’d have the evening to themselves. 

Cersei was standing in the middle – she had changed after all, into a purple dress with a corset top and A line skirt – craning her neck to see where her item was. 

‘Cersei,’ Varys said. ‘Please tell us a little about your prized possession.’ 

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Originally, I wanted to have my children on the show; I have teenage twins, and they are the only things I would ensure are rescued from a burning building.’ Her voice took on a dangerous tone. Cersei rarely spoke about her children around the house, but she wore a locket with their faces inside, and sometimes when she thought nobody was looking, she’d open it up and stare at them. It was obvious she loved them, and hated being apart. ‘But I was told I couldn’t have them so I chose the next best thing instead.’ 

An insane yapping noise started up, and the women stood as Cersei crouched to the ground, calling ‘Joffrey! Joffrey! Where are you? Mummy’s here!’ 

A second later, a golden-haired Pekingese dog came running towards Cersei. She picked it up, cuddling the thing to her face, and making cooing noise into its fur. ‘Joffrey was a gift from my late husband, Robert. Towards the end when my marriage was falling apart, Joffrey felt like the only thing I could turn to for some affection; I didn’t want to place that burden on my children. He’s a pure breed, and one of the finest dogs in the world.’ 

Cersei’s face was alive, and Brienne watched as the green eyes followed Joffrey around as he sniffed around the other women. Most of them were cooing over him as well, bending down to pat him, and calling him towards them. 

‘Are you sure he’s a purebred?’ Myranda asked. She’d hauled Joffrey up, and was rubbing his fur between her fingers. ‘He looks a little inbred to me.’ 

Cersei stiffened. ‘How dare you. I demand you let him go at once.’ Myranda did as she was told, holding her hands up in surrender as the dog yapped at its own tail and then headed for Brienne. 

She ignored him, even as he yapped at her feet. 

‘Not a dog person either?’ Tyrion asked from his chair. They’d got his entrance down; they’d just edit him out in post-production, from what Brienne had overheard one of the producers saying. 

‘Not really,’ Brienne said. ‘I like them just fine; I just don’t go mad for them.’ She knew it made her a weirdo. Dogs were the cure to all evil, and could make even the most depressed people happy. 

She got it. She just didn’t quite get it. Some of them were cute sure, but Brienne had seen adorable lizards, and she knew which one she’d rather share a home with. 

‘I forgot you didn’t like dogs,’ said Sansa, who was on her knees calling Joffrey over to her. He came trotting up, sniffing her hand and letting her pet him. ‘Ouch!’ she said. ‘He bit me!’ She thrust her hand out, where blood was already appearing. 

‘Oh, he’s just playing,’ Cersei said, calling Joffrey back to her. He went off, like the good little boy he was, sitting by her side and looking the picture of innocence. 

‘We should get that seen to,’ Varys said. ‘I’m sure Sam is around here somewhere.’ He gestured to people frantically as other women rose from the ground, not wanting to get the same treatment. 

The segment had descended into chaos. Joffrey was running around again, barking at Sansa as she was being led away by Sam. Talisa and Roslin were both walking quickly to the other side of the garden, their fear evident. 

Brienne stood up. Someone would call cut in a second, she was sure of it. 

She turned her head, and met Tyrion’s eye, and they shared a chuckle before she looked away quickly. She thought about what to do with her evening. Something relaxing. 

Something to take her mind off tomorrow. 

Maybe she’d read a book. There was a copy of Mansfield Park in her suitcase after all. 

* 

There was a tapping on her door, and Brienne threw herself out of bed, not even glancing at the clock on her bedside table. She could tell from the dark blue light outside that it was early morning – between 3am and 4am, she’d guess. The heat had continued into the night, and she’d spent most of the evening tossing and turning, memories and thoughts invading her. 

There must be something wrong, she thought groggily. There would be no other reason for someone to be at her door at this time. 

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as she pulled the door open, surprised to see Sam standing there. He gaped at her for a second, before his eye shot down to the phone in his hand. 

Brienne wished she’d just stuck her head out. She’d gone to bed in shorts and a tank top – there was a lot of her on show. She never would have chosen to wear these where anybody could see her. 

‘Nothing is wrong, Miss Tarth,’ Sam said. ‘It’s just we’ve had to make rearrangements for today’s filming. Everybody is required down in the lobby for travel within the next fifteen minutes.’ 

‘What?’ Brienne said stupidly. She blinked, trying to make her brain catch up with Sam‘s words. ‘We’re supposed to be filming in the garden today.’ 

‘Ah, yes,’ he said, a forced joviality in his voice. ‘But one of the items on our list proved a little too difficult to bring here, so we have to go to it instead. And Petyr thought it would look more impressive if we were to see it in the morning – he's hoping to aim for the sunrise which according to all the reports we’ve found should be at 5.33 this morning.’ 

She had fifteen minutes to get herself ready. Even though she was still trying to process Sam’s words, she nodded at him. 

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll be downstairs soon.’ She shut the door in his face and almost sank down against it. But she didn’t have time. Sam would probably already have woken all the women on the lower floors – Brienne was one of the last to find out. 

She grabbed the first few things she thought would look okay on camera from her wardrobe, before having a lightening quick wash and trying to sort her hair out. Thank goodness it was short. A quick brush would do. Her make-up would have to be light today, just some powder, mascara and eyeliner. She caught a glimpse of something at the bottom of her bag, and yanked it out, applying the lipstick to her mouth before she could think it over too much. 

Within ten minutes, Brienne was rushing into the lobby. She stopped short when she saw that nobody else was there. They were taking the time they’d been given, probably down to the very last second. She could have found something better to wear. 

‘You look nice,’ Sam said, as he came into the room. If Brienne was a nervous person she would have jumped at his soundless approach. 

‘Well,’ Brienne said, ‘I thought that was the point of the show.’ She took a seat at the edge of the sofa as they waited to be joined. Maybe she should change. Run back upstairs and put some jeans on. 

She had a sneaking suspicion what this was all about. Yara had been playing coy, but from the looks and hints yesterday, this was her item they were all being rushed for. And she might not have told them what she wanted bringing here, but Brienne remembered articles appearing online after Yara Greyjoy's 18th birthday. Friends of Brienne’s had attended the party, and they’d been utterly gobsmacked at the present Yara’s father had presented her with. 

Brienne fidgeted on the sofa, wishing she’d put her jeans on. The sleep haze was starting to clear from her brain now. 

What on this earth had possessed her to grab a calf length black skirt? Sure, she’d teamed it with blue wedges, and a white top that tied in the front to make it look more casual, but she never wore skirts. This was an item the stylist had forced onto her before the show started. She’d thought she’d shoved most of them to the back of her wardrobe. 

She bit her bottom lip, before remembering the red lipstick she’d applied and stopping. She’d never wear red lipstick either, although Sansa had been begging her for years to try it out. It was actually one of Sansa’s that Brienne had found buried at the bottom of her make-up bag this morning. She didn’t want to think about how long it had been there for. 

She’d had a lot of time to think, after the conversation at yesterday’s breakfast. And the truth was, she was here to promote herself. To promote her father’s business, which if things went to plan, she’d be running in the next few years. If she turned up in jeans and a shirt every day except for when a costume had been demanded of her, she’d look like she had no interest in her very own company. Or, even worse, like she didn’t know what she was doing; if it seemed like she had no interest in what she was selling, nobody would take her seriously. Which meant she had to make more of an effort. She had to. 

Other women started to trickle into the room, and Brienne was relieved to see she wasn’t the only one who’d gone for a skirt. In fact, if anything, she’d have been the odd one out if she’d chosen to wear jeans. That wasn’t surprising with women like Margaery who seemed allergic to trousers or Cersei who was wearing a maxi dress today, carrying a plastic dog carrier on her arm. But even Ygritte was in a skirt, a grey striped mini paired with combat boots. 

Even Yara when she eventually joined them, a smug grin on her face, confirming Brienne’s suspicions about this morning, was wearing a black denim skirt. Her promise to wear only jeans had been over ridden by her happiness at seeing her prized possession. The only person in trousers was Sansa. Black lined trousers paired with a simple t-shirt and ballet flats. Her version of jeans and t-shirts. Her hair was back in a ponytail and she had even less make-up on than Yara. She grinned when she saw Brienne and shot her a thumbs up. 

‘Right, ladies, now everyone is here, just a little information about today,’ Sam said. ‘Outside are two small coaches. We’ll travel to the spot and back on them. We’ll film the segment there and Tyrion and Varys will be joining us. We should only be out of the house for a few hours before we’ll come back, have a proper breakfast and then get to filming the rest of today’s pieces. We ask that you stay in the clothes you’re in now for the rest of filming. If anyone has any questions please feel free to ask them now.’ Everyone shook their head. ‘Excellent!’ he said, breaking into a smile. ‘Coffee and pastries are available on the coaches – we know it’s early! Stay safe and enjoy!’ He called the last part out, as they all left for the door, tempted by the coffee. 

‘What do you think it is?’ Ros asked, as she linked arms with Brienne. ‘It must be something giant to get us out of the house for!’ 

‘It must be,’ Brienne murmured. Ros was friendly, but she was Petyr’s spy, and for that you could never let your guard drop around her. She’d tell Petyr everything and he could use that against you. 

‘We can sit next to each other on the coach,’ Ros said. ‘I still feel like I barely know you!’ 

‘Ah,’ Brienne said, her muscles tensing at the thought. ‘Won’t that be fun?’ 

* 

She was right about this being Yara's item. They’d pulled up to a dock, littered with boats gently bobbing on the sea. The sky was getting lighter now, a grey light that would soon deepen to pinks and yellows. They couldn’t have picked a better day for a sunrise. 

The sea calmed Brienne in a way anything else rarely did. The sea was her father’s isle, and quiet days. It was cool and calm and beautiful; all things Brienne had always longed to be, growing up. The sea was her anchor. If it could be giant and beautiful, then why couldn’t she? 

‘This way,’ Yara called out, and they all followed her, their chatter growing quieter the further they got down the wooden walkway. There was a camera crew following them, a cameraman walking backwards in front of Yara, to capture her reaction. 

‘And here it is,’ Yara said, stopping in front of a ship. It looked like something from a novel, or a fairy-tale. It was parked sideways, up against the walkway, so you could grasp the full size of it. There were golden embellishments around the hull, and a black flag with a golden kraken flying above their heads. 

Margaery let out a low whistle. 

‘This,’ Yara said, walking up to the ship and stroking a hand along it, ‘is my ship. Black Wind.’ The wind stirred around her, blowing her hair back – it would make a great shot. ‘My dad gave her to me for my 18th birthday and she’s the best thing I’ve ever owned. I take her out once a month, at least. Sometimes I just stay on her. If I need a break, or some silence. Or to break something where no one can hear me.’ 

‘Impressive,’ Varys said. He’d joined them, but had had to jog to keep up with Yara as she strode down the walkway. Tyrion was there, gawping up at the ship like he’d never seen anything like it, even though Brienne knew the Lannister's owned at least three yachts. 

But maybe this was different. This was craftsmanship at its finest. This was a boat loved, not because of the money and power it represented, but because it was home to Yara. It was a work of art. 

They had to film the introduction again, a few times. Yara walking up to the ship, Varys’s part, the other women and their reaction. They even made Margaery to do her whistle again, several times, giving her pointers like ‘can you do it a little lower?’ or ‘if you can go up slightly in the middle?’ 

By the time Yara had given them all a tour of the ship – and Brienne would live here too if she could – , and everyone had got what they wanted, and they were climbing back onto the bus, it was eleven o clock. The pastries from breakfast had been hours ago, and everyone was tired and hungry. The sun was already beating down – another hot day was in store for them. There were still four more segments to film today. 

‘What day is it?’ Myranda wondered as everyone settled onto the coaches. ‘I keep losing track. I could have sworn it was Monday today, but it can’t be?’ 

‘It’s Tuesday,’ Melisandre answered. ‘Didn’t you bring a calendar with you?’ 

‘No,’ Myranda said, looking like Melisandre was crazy. ‘Nerd,’ she said under her breath, before asking, ‘and what’s the date? I hate not knowing but I just can’t keep track.’ 

‘It’s the 24th,’ Melisandre answered again. 

The 24th. The words echoed around Brienne’s head and she had to be prompted by one of the girls behind her to move further up to her seat. She’d stopped. 

She’d forgotten. Or no, that wasn’t right, because of course she hadn’t forgotten, but with being woken up so early, she hadn’t remembered. 

‘Are you alright?’ Ros asked as she took her seat once again next to Brienne. ‘You look a little ill.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ she answered, her voice a monotone. ‘Probably just tired and hungry.’ Ros nodded and started babbling on about how she was going to ask the driver to stop at a drive though on the way back. 

Brienne tuned her out, and turned once more back to the sea, the blue gleam still visible through the window. 

It didn’t calm her now. Instead the blue was black, and calm was rough, and all she was reminded of was her brother’s body as he’d been dragged out of it, twenty years ago. 

* 

Galladon, or Gal as he’d usually been known had been Brienne’s big brother. They’d grown up together, play fighting on the beaches that surrounded their family island, taking it in turns to hide around doorways and shout ‘boo’ when the other was coming, and looking out for each other. Even though Brienne had been 12 years younger, Gal never made her feel like a tag-along little sister. He was always happy to take her with him wherever he went. Happy that she would stay where he told her too until he came back to get her. 

Their mother had struggled with both of her pregnancies; with Gal, the miracle baby that she’d been trying for years for, and with Brienne, the surprise natural baby. Gal was the favourite, even if her father always insisted on denying it; but Brienne didn’t care. Gal was her favourite too. He was the big, strong, brave, warrior who would one day take over their father’s - then, smaller - business. He’d inherit the island – called Tarth in honour of them (and Brienne had always hated that her father had brought an island and given it the same name as his last; it seemed just a little too self-indulgent for her tastes). Gal would give their father heirs to pass the family name onto. 

And then one day, when Gal was twenty, him and a group of friends had gone to the beach. Brienne couldn’t even remember what beach it was, just a tourist hotspot in the UK. Brienne had gone with them, and Gal had made her sit on a plastic spiny chair at the counter of an ice cream shop. The weather was horrendous, grey clouds low in the sky, everyone bundled up in hoodies and jackets, umbrellas swinging from their hands. Only mad people would even go out in this weather, but Gal and his friends had had the plan for ages, and they weren’t going to let a little bit of rain ruin their fun. 

Only it was more than a bit of rain. A storm had come in, lightening flashing through the sky, thunder booming all along the seafront. Brienne had been huddled in the doorway of the shop, while the owner wrapped a raincoat around them, cursing whoever had left a child alone on a day like that. 

Brienne had heard Gal’s friends before she’d seen them – calling out his name worryingly, shouting with desperation as they struggled along the beach. She’d run to them, tearing out of the arms of the woman trying to protect her, letting the shouts to come back fly away in the wind and rain. 

It had taken two hours to find his body. His friends had stuttered the story to the emergency services dispatched to them, while Brienne stood there, staring at the sea. He was going to come out of it. He was. He’d emerge, shaking his blond hair from his head, grinning, thinking giving them all a scare was a great laugh. He’d bribe her with chocolate and sweets on the way home so she wouldn’t mention it to their parents. 

Instead, she’d watched as they dragged his body out. 

As it was, Brienne had ridden home in a police car. They’d lived a couple of hours away, and she refused to say a word to anyone. She’d let them wrap a blanket around her, then sat dripping in the back of the car. 

She’d sat through the police explaining it all to her parents; according to his friends, they’d all decided to get into the water. A few had jumped out after a few minutes, calling for the others; but three of the boys had gone off, behind some rocks. They thought it had been a joke; they’d called out, shivering as they changed back into their clothes. After a few more minutes, the other two boys returned, saying they’d decided to jump off the rocks into the sea. 

Gal had hit his head on the way down. He wasn’t dead when he hit the water, but with the storm and the injury he wasn’t at his best. He’d probably struggled to come up after he’d plunged into the water. His friends hadn’t realised. They’d watched him jump, laughed and then turned their back to re-join their group, assuming he’d be right behind them. 

There were other details, all of which Brienne tuned out. It didn’t make any sense. Gal was coming back for her. 

He’d promised. 

* 

‘So, come on then, give us a hint about yours,’ Ros’s voice filtered back to Brienne, and she turned her head, trying to make sense of the words. Her mind was stuck twenty years ago, staring at a black sea, feeling frozen rain drops on her skin. 

‘Sorry?’ she said. Her voice was shaky and she cleared it. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?’ she asked. She had to pull herself together. She might be friendly with this woman, but that didn’t mean she needed to know her life story. She didn’t want to be pitied. Her brother had died; it was tragic, and horrible and some mornings there was still a sharp pinprick just below her ribs as she remembered. 

But life went on. Gal was all about living life to the fullest, and Brienne had made him a vow at his funeral; that she would do her best to live the life he now couldn’t. 

‘Your prized possession, silly!’ Ros said. ‘Honestly, it’s like you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said!’ Brienne forced a smile. 

‘Sorry. I think the early morning has taken it effect. Headache.’ She gestured vaguely at her forehead. 

‘Ah, you’ll be fine once you get some more coffee and food inside you!’ Ros said. Everything was so excitable to her. It was kind of exhausting having a conversation with Ros. Brienne, who wasn’t as forthcoming with emotions, always felt like she needed a lie down after talking with Ros. 

‘Probably,’ Brienne agreed. She wasn’t supposed to be on this bus. She was supposed to be at home, video chatting with her father as they talked about everything else except her brother. His name was okay to bring up in conversation any other day of the year, but on his anniversary, he was off limits. 

She wasn’t sure why that was. The pain never left, but it was like it got worse on this day. The memories were too raw. 

She’d always call her father, however, and he’d always answer. They were the only two left in their family. 

‘What about you?’ Brienne asked. Ros was still looking at her, waiting for a response. ‘What’s your item?’ 

‘Oh, it’s fabulous,’ Ros giggled. ‘And perfect to hang next to Jamie’s sword.’ She giggled again before getting distracted by some commotion at the back of the bus; it seemed Cersei had let Joffrey out, and he’d once again bitten Sansa. That was twice in two days. 

Brienne rested her head against the window. She’d allow herself to wallow in memories for the rest of the trip. Then she’d get through the next four segments – which, she remembered with a lurch included hers – and then the evening would be hers. She’d ask Sansa and Margaery if they wanted to hang out tonight. They’d wouldn’t ask any questions, and would distract her with normal, everyday chat. 

She could do that. And then tomorrow she’d be back to normal. 

* 

‘It’s a medical kit,’ Talisa said. Her hands were on her hips, as she stared Varys down. ‘I don’t know how to make it any more exciting.’ 

‘Embellish, dear,’ he said. He flicked his wrist as he pulled a wrapped bandage from the box. ‘Tell us about situations you’ve had to use them in; after last week we need some blood and gore for the show. There’s a lot to live up to.’ Talisa looked around at all the other women for help, but none of them had anything to say. 

A brand new shiny medical kit with everything you could ever need in an emergency jam packed into it could only be talked about for so long. 

‘Can I ask,’ Tyrion said from his spot in front of the women. ‘Why a medical kit?’ 

‘I’ve told you,’ Talisa said, almost sounding like she was gritting her teeth, ‘because it is the one thing I’d rescue from a burning building. It would be a lot more use than a framed photo.’ 

‘Only if you know how to use it,’ Tyrion said. 

‘Which I do,’ Talisa put her hands up in surrender. ‘If Myranda was allowed to rescue her father’s company, then I should be allowed to have this.’ She jabbed a finger at the green box sitting on the plinth in the middle of the circle of women. ‘You could at least hang this on a wall, unlike some of the other items we’ve seen. And I carry one with me everywhere I go. It makes me feel calmer and more in control. I'd be devastated not to have it on me.’ 

‘We’re not saying you can’t have it as your prized possession,’ Varys said. ‘If this is the best foot you have to put forward, then that‘s fine. You’re a caring person; that’s good, I’m sure the public will love it. We’re just saying jazz it up a little. Talk about it a bit more.’ 

‘If you want, we could always film her tending to me,’ Sansa said. She used her foot to push away the barking dog that was at her heels. She held up a hand where they could all see the bite and scratch marks. ‘Since I’m being attacked constantly.’ 

‘Honestly,’ Cersei said, standing from her chair, and going to Joffrey. ‘All this fuss over a little nip of his teeth. He’s playing; it means he likes you. Though I can’t imagine why. I always thought he had good taste.’ She pulled the dog to her chest, and settled back into the seat, elbowing Brienne in the process. 

‘Well, maybe we’ll just come back to this one,’ Varys said. Ramsay, the cameraman, was making ‘wrap it up gestures.’ It seemed like he was the one in contact with Petyr today, if the ear piece he was wearing was any indication. 

Brienne idly wondered why Petyr wasn’t here all the time. If this show as so important to him, wouldn’t he be the one actually overseeing all the performances, not just using his monkeys? 

Then she decided that she didn’t care. Whatever the reason was, she was grateful for it, even if it was just his other shows needed his attention. Any day she didn’t have to deal with Petyr Baelish was a good day in her books. 

Except this one. 

She closed her eyes against the thought. It was always like this. That little voice in her head, constantly reminding her what today was. She’d only found one way to block it out, and she hated using it. 

Varys clapped his hands together. ‘Okay, ladies let’s move onto the next! Ros, why don’t you go. I believe yours might just be exciting enough to make up...for...let’s just set it up, shall we?’ Varys turned his head to avoid the hostile stares of fifteen women. None of them cared about the items being exciting. This was supposed to be showing themselves off to the public; not lying to the viewers for drama. 

There were squeals as a big box was carried in, and then more minutes of pointless chatter and everyone fanning themselves with their hands. The sun was really coming down now, and Brienne wished they could get this over with sooner. Or at least that her part would come sooner. She was perfectly content to just sit here, with a glazed look on her face as the other’s went on with their segment. 

‘Places,’ Varys called and they all settled back again, pleasant smiles on their faces. Two down, three to go. 

‘This is an exceptional piece,’ Ros said. ‘I found it at a market I attend, and I just knew I had to make it mine. The beauty; the elegance; the underlying sexiness, and the overwhelming sense of danger; it reminded me of me!’ She tore the cloth covering the item off, her chest heaving as she stared at the crossbow it revealed. 

A crossbow. Ros’s prized possession was a medieval weapon, that would look perfect hanging on a wall. 

‘I’ve taken archery lessons since I was a little girl,’ Ros said, trailing a hand over the wooden curves of the crossbow. ‘I’m a great shot.’ She mimed shooting an arrow into the air. 

The crossbow was almost as tall as Ros herself was standing upright as it was on the plinth, and made from a dark wood. There were carvings all along the top, which Ros went into detail about, stroking each of them in turn. 

‘It’s certainly impressive,’ Tyrion said. ‘Imagine just having that lying around. It’s almost like the universe chose you for Jaime.’ He grinned at Ros, who grinned back. 

‘Isn’t it just?’ she said. ‘It’s like cupid’s arrow has struck me.’ She placed a hand on her heart. 

Brienne had to give it to her. Ros was good at acting when given the chance. 

‘It is very beautiful,’ Margaery said. She stood up to get a closer look at it. ‘Can I hold it? Will you show me how?’ 

Petyr would love this, Brienne knew. Ros took it in turns teaching all the women who wanted to play with crossbows how to stand, and tips to make sure your arrow shot straight. 

Brienne passed on her turn. Anything to make this move quicker. 

‘Of course, this one doesn’t shoot,’ Ros said, gently taking the crossbow back from Tyrion. He’d been having a great time with it, pointing it in their direction and miming pulling the trigger. 

He’d gone for Cersei first. ‘It’s too old and rusty on the inside. I’d like to get it restored but most people these days seem afraid of making a weapon actually work.’ 

The crossbow was taken away and a plinth spray painted gold took its place. 

‘See you in five,’ Margaery said to them as they stood up and stretched their legs. Even though each item was carried in under a cloth so nobody could see it, it still felt a little rude to stay sitting, staring. Like you were trying to get a head start. 

‘Hey,’ Sansa said, appearing next to Brienne. ‘You okay?’ 

Brienne opened her mouth to say yes, then closed it. This was Sansa. She didn’t have to lie to her. 

‘Not really,’ she said instead, feeling a little of the weight she’d been wearing leave her. She didn’t have to smile for five minutes. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Sansa said. ‘I heard them discussing the date on the way back. I couldn’t understand why at first a feeling of dread came over me, but then I remembered. I don’t know how you’re doing it. Standing here, staring at objects, putting a brave face on.’ 

‘Well, you’d rather be anywhere else than here, too,’ Brienne said. ‘And you’ve been playing the good girl for weeks. It’s just one day. Plus, the filming is a good distraction. Interesting.’ 

‘You could them to swap you with someone from tomorrow,’ Sansa said. ‘If you told them, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.’ 

‘That’s a sweet idea,’ Brienne said. ‘But I’d rather get it over and done with. I can talk about my item in my sleep. You said I did the first month I got it.’ 

‘Oh yeah,’ Sansa said, laughing. ‘You did. Reciting all the information to yourself when you stayed over that one time. I thought you were trying to get yourself to sleep, that it was like your version of counting sheep, but no. You were snoring in between the facts.’ 

Varys called them all back to their places, and they slowly wandered over to the group. Margaery was standing next to the covered plinth, bouncing on her toes. 

‘She’s very excited about this,’ Brienne remarked. Varys was right; everyone seemed happier since they’d had a little bit of their home injected here. 

‘She told me she’s been waiting for a perfect moment,’ Sansa said. ‘But to do what, I don’t know. Listen, Brienne, if you need somebody later, me and Margaery are here for you. And if you want to be left alone, we’re here for you with that, too.’ 

‘I’ll let you know,’ Brienne said, feeling the warm glow that came from the love of friendship. ‘Thank you.’ 

They took their seats, Sansa grimacing as she picked Joffrey up from hers, and dropped him on the floor. 

‘Ladies,’ Margaery said. ‘I am very excited about this. As you know, my Grandmother invented the Tyrell fragrance line.’ 

‘After she married the heir of the number one perfume manufacture in the UK,’ Cersei said. 

‘And it quickly became the number one bestselling perfume all over the world,’ Margaery went on. ‘Well, except in China, but we don’t talk about that. Anyway, for those of you who don’t know, my Grandmother recently announced that she’d be handing the business over to me when she dies.’ Another flash beat through Brienne. What was it like to just be able to announce your successor? She’d bet Margaery wasn’t kept awake at night thinking of all the horrible things people were going to say once they saw the new head of the company. 

Although, maybe that had something to do with Margaery’s Grandmother. She was probably happy her business was being handed off to someone who had spent their whole life dreaming of finally being handed the keys. 

Brienne’s father, as lovely as he was, always had a look about him when they talked about her taking over the company. She wasn’t sure if it was because he felt she wasn’t up to it, or because he was unsure the people would take to her; but either way, that shadow was always there, making her doubt herself. 

‘But she wanted me to prove myself first. And what better way...’ she picked up two corners of the cloth, then whipped them off the plinth. ‘Than by getting me to create my own perfume line?’ A glass bottle sparkled in the sun. Brienne wasn’t the only one who pitched forward, wanting a better look. 

It looked like an upside down rose petal – one of the ones from a storybook, long and delicate, with the bottom flicking outwards just slightly. The lid was a golden crown, small red jewels studded along the bottom. 

‘My perfume is based on royalty,’ Margaery said. ‘It’s a lighter fragrance than the rose scent; a more every day perfume, if you will.’ She laughed. ‘Now it’s time for the good bit.’ She picked the bottle up in her hands, cradling it carefully like it was the most precious things in the world. ‘I’ve been working on this for three years altogether, and you will be the very first people to see and smell the finished product. I hope you know how special this is.’ She uncapped the bottle, then walked to Sansa who was sitting at the end of the semi-circle. One by one, the women thrust their wrists out, waiting for Margaery to squirt them. 

Brienne closed her eyes as she inhaled the new scent. It was fresh and clean. Margaery was telling them all how she’d been inspired by the ocean for the smell; the clean, pure scent of water. How it could make everything new again, and wash away sins. 

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Brienne said, and Margaery flashed a grin at her before retaking her spot in the middle next to the plinth. 

‘I’m so excited to finally be able to share this with everyone,’ Margaery said, staring into the camera, the bottle still held in her hands. ‘My perfume will be called Queen and it’ll be released just in time for Christmas this year!’ 

‘May I?’ Tyrion asked, and she went to him, spraying the wrist he held out for her. ‘Delightful,’ he announced after taking a long inhale. ‘Dare I say you might even outsell that Rose fragrance? If anything could do it, I think this could.’ 

‘You are too kind,’ Margaery said. The air smelt of the perfume, the sun was reflecting off the lid and sending sparkles onto the grass and everyone was smiling. 

For a moment Brienne felt like everything was okay. A single second suspended above the cave of darkness she was plunged back into when Varys clapped his hands and said, ‘right, everyone. A five-minute break and then we’ll be back to see what Brienne has in store for us.’ 

* 

‘You kept that quiet,’ Brienne said as she approached Margaery. They were standing a little away from the rest of the group inside the den. They’d all been sent there, because Brienne’s item was too big to be carried into the garden under a cloth. Brienne had been slightly delayed – a producer had tried to go over her part with her, making sure several bullet points were drilled into her head. Say this. Do this. Face this camera. Smile. Stop trying to pull your skirt down, you look fine. 

‘Well, I had to,’ Margaery said. ‘I think at first it was just something Grandmother gave me to distract me. I know she was gearing up to give Loras the business. But she saw how dedicated I was, how much I threw myself into the task and how seriously I took it. And it was a great distraction when Renly left me. A little warm glow in my chest that not even his actions could put out.’ 

‘You can see how much effort you put into it,’ Brienne said. The whole design had been exquisite, every single part planned and smoothed out. ‘And the scent - it‘s wonderful. Not sure how you connect the ocean with royalty, but it works.’ 

‘Thank you. I always knew I wanted the crown, and the name to be Queen but I couldn’t find a scent to go with it.’ She heisted for a second. ‘You kind of inspired that part, you know?’ 

‘What?’ Brienne said, shocked. She hadn’t really seen Margaery for the past few years; she didn’t know how she could inspire anything. 

‘I was panicking about what I wanted it to smell like,’ Margaery said. ‘I knew I wanted to stray away from the rose scent, give our customers the opposite, a lighter option. Flowers were out, but did I go for fruit? In which case did I do citrus, or something berry? But the problem with that is if you get the mix even slightly off you can end up smelling like some cheap manufactured body product a pre-teen girl would buy from Superdrug.’ She shuddered at this worst case. ‘It was all I could think about. I was smelling everything that passed me by; did I do a food scent? Chocolate? Vanilla? And then you came to a party. I don’t even remember what party is was. But you walked in, and you looked tanned, and your hair was blonder than I’d ever seen it. We spoke briefly about how you’d spent the last two months on your island, and I instantly knew. The Ocean. If I could bottle that, and sell it, that would be perfection.’ 

‘Oh,’ Brienne said shocked. She didn’t remember the party either, but then in their circle there were always parties. She’d had to come back for a fair few of them; for her not to be seen would look like the Tarth’s were slighting the host and that wouldn’t do. One wrong move and you and your business could be ruined.  
They moved towards the door as Sam appeared to usher them all back into the garden. They could see the big black cloth covering Brienne’s item from here. ‘Well, I’m glad in some small way that I helped. Queen is going to be a success.’ 

‘I hope so,’ Margaery said, her voice betraying the slightly wobble. She shook her head, tawny curls falling around her shoulders. ‘But, even if it’s not, it’s a learning lesson. It’s my first stab at anything like this; whatever happens will be valuable experience.’ 

Brienne wondered what it would be like to be like Margaery. She’s always assumed the woman was confident, but it was more than that. She wasn't crippled by anxiety; she did what she wanted to do, and took everything in her stride. She was calm, and unmovable, not letting anything break her stride, even if her world was collapsing. 

Margaery was going to be a formidable woman once she took over the Tyrell perfume operation. Brienne couldn’t wait to see it. 

‘And now, let’s welcome Brienne Tarth!’ Varys said. Everyone had settled back into their chairs, staring at the giant item Brienne was standing next to. ‘Brienne, tell us a little about your item,’ Varys said. 

‘Uh, it’s my prized possession,’ she said, then internally kicked herself. What else would it be? ‘I’ve had it for three years now. I was walking past a shop one day, and I saw it and had to double back. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,’ she said. She remembered walking past the dealership, and doubling back. She’d been covering her head with her jacket as the rain pounded down around her; but still. She’d stood staring at the bike for a full five minutes before she’d pulled herself together and gone in to inquire about it. 

‘It’s not something you can hang on a wall, and I probably wouldn’t rescue it from a burning building; but only because I can’t store it in the house.’ Varys gave her a slight nod, and she grasped the top of the cloth, taking a small breath before she pulled it away. 

Standing there now, with every eye upon it stood a gleaming black motorbike. There were a few gasps, and Brienne took a step nearer, a smile on her face as she trailed her hands over the handlebars. This was her bike, and she loved it. She hadn’t realised how homesick she’d felt until just now, with a piece of her home here with her. 

‘Excuse me,’ Tyrion said. She turned to him, frowning. He sounded like he was trying very hard not to laugh for some reason. ‘I’m sorry. I just have to know. Does this bike have a special name? I do have a reason for asking; I’m just hoping you can confirm it for me.’ 

‘Okay,’ Brienne said. She stepped around to the side, crouching down, and stroking a small silver oval badge on the side. There was an inscription there, the word almost invisible in the bright sunlight. ‘When I brought it, the man inside told me that the owner had only sold it a few days previously. I didn’t ask for the story, but the salesman did say that he’d promised it would go to a good home. He said the previous owner had been so attached to it, he’d given it a name and had this added.’ She could feel the camera over her shoulder, focusing on the silver patch. ‘It’s called Oathkeeper.’ 

A hushed silence seemed to follow her words, and she glanced at the women who were sitting above her. Some of them still wore politely interested looks; Ellaria looked like she was just dying to take a seat on the bike; but Daenerys and Cersei were both staring daggers at the motorbike, like it had personally insulted them. Cersei was clutching Joffrey to her chest, the poor dog squeaking and trying to get away. 

Even Margaery and Sansa were exchanging worried looks. Brienne didn’t understand why; they’d known she’d bring Oathkeeper. 

‘I never thought I’d see this again,’ Tyrion said. He’d slipped from his chair, to stroke the front of the bike, awe in his face. ‘Tell me, Brienne, what do you know about my brother?’ 

Brienne went to stand up, but remained crouching when Ramsay hissed at her to stay put; something about how she’d ruin the angles if she stood now. 

Five more minutes. And then she’d be free. 

‘Jaime Lannister is Tywin’s Lannister's’ heir. He’s set to inherit all of the company your father has spent his life building up.’ Tyrion was still waiting. ‘He was the man of the decade. Everybody loved him and you couldn’t go a day without seeing his face smirking from a magazine or newspaper or his nights out trending online. He used to box; there was a fight between him and the UK champion, which he won, and raised a whole lot of money for charity.’ She cleared her throat. She’d forgotten that little fact. The match was years ago, but she’d stayed up late watching it, cheering Jaime on from the comfort of her sofa. ‘About six years ago he disappeared. People wrote articles saying they were worried about him, but he was still photographed coming out of his house, so he wasn’t actually missing. He just wasn’t making as many public appearances. Everyone thought he had finally gotten a girlfriend.’ Her face was screwed up as she tried to recall the hazy details from those years, but it was difficult. Jaime Lannister had only ever been a slight blip on her radar; someone who she only really knew about because of him being constantly shoved in her face. He was like the olden day version of the Kardashians; you might not want to know anything about their lives, but dammit, you would. 

‘And then?’ Tyrion asked. 

‘And then,’ Brienne said, wondering how best to phrase it. The camera was right by her face; she should keep this professional. 

She opened her mouth to say ‘and then Jaime was involved in the incident in which he lost his hand, and he disappeared from the media completely,’ but made the mistake of meeting Daenerys eye. The woman was staring at her, harshness written across every line. Her violet eyes were glowing with hatred, although Brienne didn’t think it was directed at her. 

‘And then,’ Brienne said again, a sense of anger fusing through her; she didn’t owe Jaime Lannister anything, ‘he killed a man and lost his hand and disappeared after the court case where he got off with community service and a fine.’ 

There were gasps from the other women; nobody had put it so bluntly before. They were all still pretending that they wanted to marry him. Wanting to marry a murderer; was that really what Brienne’s life had come down to? This wasn’t keeping her promise to Gal, to try and live life as best she could. 

Tiredness crashed down on Brienne, and she stood, ignoring Ramsey’s muffled hiss. She wanted this over and done with. 

‘A little basic on the facts, and with some terrible misinformation,’ Tyrion said mildly, ‘but for most purposes, correct. What I actually meant, was, how much did you know about him before the incident? For example, did you know that he was a keen motorbike enthusiast himself?’ 

‘No,’ Brienne muttered. Goosebumps popped up on her skin, despite the warmness of the afternoon sun. There had been some specialist work done to Oathkeeper when she’d brought it. The gears and the handlebars were all set up, so that it would be less work for somebody. 

Somebody who only had one hand. 

‘Yes,’ Tyrion smiled. ‘There was a double page spread in a magazine once. He didn’t usually get caught on his bike; he was too fast for most to catch him, literally leaving them in the dirt as he rode off. I’m sure you’ve figured it out, haven’t you?’ 

Brienne swallowed. ‘Do you mean to tell me, that this bike – my bike, my prized possession – once belonged to Jaime Lannister?’ 

‘I do,’ Tyrion said. ‘Isn’t that amazing? He sold it shortly after he lost his hand; no matter what I said, or how I managed to make it easier for him, he said riding it would never be the same. He regretted selling it a few months after; but when he contacted the place, eager to buy Oathkeeper back, they told him it had already sold. And they refused to give out the details of the new owner; something about confidently and data protection.’ Tyrion shook his head, like the concept of legal practices was a novel one to him. ‘Jaime was very surprised. He’d insisted that they sell it for a ridiculous amount of money. I think he always hoped to go back and re-buy it.’ Tyrion was staring at her, a frown on his face. 

The truth was, Brienne knew the motorbike had been overpriced. She had managed to get the dealer down by a couple of grand, but she still knew she’d paid over the odds. She could have got a much newer one for almost half. 

But something about it had called to her. She’d known it was supposed to be hers as soon as she’d seen it. And she rarely spent money on anything. She wore clothes till they got holes in them. The only thing she really splurged on was books. She’d decided she deserved Oathkeeper, even though her old bike had done a brilliant job for years. 

‘Well,’ Brienne said. Then stopped. What could she say? That she obviously had a bigger bank balance than Tyrion assumed? That much was obvious. 

‘You really didn’t know it belonged to Jaime before?’ Cersei asked. She scoffed. ‘Do you expect us to believe that?’ 

‘Do you really think if I’d known, I’d have brought it in the first place?’ Brienne said back. ‘I believe I have made my feelings about Mr Lannister very clear.’ She looked at Oathkeeper again, waiting for the revulsion in her stomach to rise. It was tainted now. 

Except. It wasn’t; because it was her bike. And she was going to keep it, even if Jaime decided he wanted it back. 

‘Right,’ Varys said, clapping his hands together. ‘We’ve gone a little off topic, and as much as I’m sure the voting public would like to know how much you don’t want to win, let’s get back to filming shall we?’ He paused for three seconds, before his signature smile bloomed on his face. ‘Well, isn’t that a turn up for the books? If you ask me, it almost looks like you’re the one made for Jaime!’ Brienne shot him a dark look. ‘But, that’s not my decision; it’s the public who need to remember to vote! Now, Brienne, why don’t you tell us a little bit more about this gorgeous bike in front of us? And then, shall we let the ladies sit on it? I can see that a few of them are just dying to wrap their legs around it!’ 

‘Of course,’ Brienne said, plastering a fake smile on her own face. She had to get through this. 

There was no other option. 

* 

The room was too small. The walls were closing in on her. Everything was beige; the walls, the floor, the chest of drawers. She needed colour. And lights. Just something to remind her of what else was out there; that the world wasn’t actually reduced to a tiny little room. 

Brienne slipped out of her room, sneaking down the stairs. She didn’t want any of the other women on the floor to hear her and see what she was up to; she didn’t want to have to explain herself tonight. She wanted to be taken out of her own mind which was spinning with memories and thoughts and her brother’s big smile and blue eyes, so close to her own, but she didn’t want to come across as rude if another memory hit her and she blanked out. 

Which was why she was going to find Sansa and Margaery. They’d be fine with her sitting between them, while they chattered about non-important things. 

Hopefully with alcohol. Brienne always made an exception for drinking on this one day. 

The floor where Sansa and Margaery slept was silent. It was only just gone 9pm; nobody would be asleep yet. Usually there were shouts from the living room from the group that had taken over the sofa as they watched their latest shows on Netflix, or giggling and little moans coming from behind Ellaria’s room. 

It got even weirder when Brienne popped her head around Sansa’s open door; half her clothes had been thrown onto her bed, and half looked like they’d been removed. 

She wouldn’t have gone? Would she? Not without taking to me, Brienne thought, before walking to Margaery's room, and seeing it in the same state as Sansa’s; clothes everywhere. 

Something was going on, and Brienne was going to get to the bottom of it. 

It didn’t take her long. She crept to the bottom floor, drawn to the living room; there was laughter coming from there, and several different conversations reached her ears. A sense of unease filled her, and she felt like she was back in high school, even before she peeked into the doorway and saw the scene. 

All fourteen women were in the living room. Clothes were strewn everywhere; over the sofa, over the TV, all over the floor. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the mess; girls were picking up an item as they stepped over it, or holding pieces up to their body and then discarding them straight back to the floor. 

‘Uh, no thanks,’ Brienne heard Yara say. ‘The only time you’ll see me in anything pink is if I’m dead and my brother thinks it’s a funny joke to bury me in it. In which case I’ll come back and haunt him.’ 

‘But you’d look so nice!’ That was Sansa’s voice, and Brienne felt a stab of horror. There was a pressing ache just under her ribs. 

Nobody had mentioned tonight’s little clothes swapping session to her. Nobody had come to her door to check if she wanted company or to be left alone. 

She was being left out, and she had to swallow back the lump of tears that rose, suddenly. She was 14 again and watching as her friends exchanged in jokes and talked about their weekend plans which didn’t include her. She was 19 and she could see her friends in a group in the middle of the high street, even though her phone had had no messages for the past 24 hours. 

She was 28 and standing outside a room in a house, the only uninvited guest to the party. 

‘It’s such good luck we’re all the same size.’ That was Cersei, Brienne knew. Her words were accompanied by a quiet bark. ‘Or at least adjustable. That dress looked adorable on you Ros; even if you do have to wear it as a t-shirt.’ 

‘Yeah, and I’d have to strap my boobs down.’ Well, that was obviously Ros. ‘I swear all of you are flat chested.’ There were protests from the room, but Brienne had had enough. 

She turned on her heel, ready to go back to her room. She’d go to bed. Close her eyes and force her mind to switch off. 

Were they really all so pissed at her? She wondered. There had been a fair few looks exchanged between some of the women when they learned she now owned Jaime Lannister’s old bike, but she meant what she said; she had had no idea. It probably wouldn’t have stopped her from buying it, she‘d admitted to herself, but she wouldn’t have brought it here for the show! She felt humiliated enough as it was that the fact had been exposed in front of everyone. 

This would have been so much easier if she’d never set eyes on Oathkeeper. 

Oathkeeper. 

The name ran through her head, and she stilled on the stairs. Varys had told her that their items were going to be staying here for as long as the women did. And she’d seen Oathkeeper’s keys in its ignition when she was helping others on and off the bike. She was going to turn it on, and let them feel the rumble of the engine, but Varys had shut that down quickly once the noise had started up; the microphones would literally be able to pick nothing else up. 

The indecision played tug of war inside her. She couldn’t leave the house. She’d get in so much trouble if anyone found out. And it wasn’t a good idea; she had no idea where this house was based; she didn’t know the area; what if she couldn’t get back? 

But she couldn’t go back to her room. And she didn’t want to stay in this house, not tonight, not now. The anxiety of being out and about and getting caught would at least distract her for a few hours. 

Brienne was still debating the pros and cons as she turned around, and headed towards the front door. She slipped out of it, glad she’d changed into jeans and trainers when they’d finally been released from filming earlier. 

There was a gleaming taxi waiting at the front of the house, the driver reading a newspaper behind the wheel. Brienne hesitated. She could always use him. Petyr had told them the car was there for them, if they ever needed to escape for a little while. The driver would know a safe place for her to get a drink. He’d know how to get back to the house. 

The pull of Oathkeeper was too much. Ever since she‘d felt the vibration of the engine earlier, Brienne had been longing to get back on it. Driving always helped to clear her head. 

She hurried around the corner, heading towards the garage attached to the side of the house. They’d been given a very quick glance inside when they first arrived at the house before filming had started. It was somewhere for Varys and Petyr to park, and Brienne assumed it was where Oathkeeper would be stored. 

She was right. She could see the gleaming black bike as soon as she pushed the metal grate open, wincing at the slight scrap the door made against the concrete underneath. All she needed was for one of the girl’s to hear something and scream ‘intruder’. 

Although they were probably having too much fun to notice anything, Brienne thought sourly. She signed as she took her position on the bike. She was an adult. Not some teenager with hurt feelings. She knew it was unlikely Sansa and Margaery had deliberately excluded her; they’d probably just assumed that she’d wanted space this evening. If she’d entered and asked them to leave the party, they would have. A couple of the others’ might have come with them too. 

Brienne didn’t feel like rational thought tonight. Instead she kicked her bike into gear, vowing to stop at the first place that served drinks she could find. She didn’t want to go too far, especially since she didn't have her helmet with her. 

She’d have one drink. And then she’d come back and go to bed and tomorrow everything would feel a little less bleak. 

The wind whipped in her face as she drove down the road, the familiar feeling coming back to her. She wasn’t going to go too fast, even though she wanted to; she was far too sensible for that. 

Safety first. 

She slowed down as she passed a pub; King’s Landing. There were groups of people outside, smoking, their laughter reaching her ears even over the roar of her engine. The pub was a tidy brick building, with a low roof and hanging baskets filled with flowers. There were picnic benches in the garden, and a low brick wall surrounding the building, with a car park at the right-hand side. Posters advertising the menu were all around. 

It would be easy to get lost here. To take a table in a corner and sit sipping a pint all evening. She’d only been riding for fifteen minutes; she’d be able to find her way back. 

A great shout of laughter reached her ears as she dawdled at a set of traffic lights, and when the lights turned green, Brienne continued on her way. She didn’t really want to be around people this evening and what if someone spotted her? She was very easy to spot, The One was doing well; it would be naive to think nobody would recognize her. 

She followed the road to the right, letting her mind wander and her bike guide her. The sky was darkening, and soon she reached streets with broken bus stops and curbs cluttered with litter. The crowds had thinned out here, barely anyone walking along beside her. She passed a random corner shop in the middle of boarded up buildings, and then took another right. She had a vague memory of coming here once before, for somebody’s party. There was another bar around here somewhere she was sure of it. 

The glint of neon pink caught her eye, and she turned down another street, her eyes fixed on the tiny building now in front of her; The Bear Pit. 

There were no crowds enjoying the hot weather outside this bar. Just one lone man, the orange tip of his cigarette glowing against his all black outfit. He nodded at Brienne as she parked her bike and went inside. 

‘Sure you’re not lost love?’ he asked. ‘We don’t get many of your sort in here.’ 

‘And what is my sort?’ she asked, bristling. ‘You serve vodka, right?’ He nodded, holding his hands up in surrender. 

‘I didn’t mean nothing by it love. We just usually don’t attract proper people like you, that’s all. Hey, you sure you’re not a cop?’ he said, suddenly his face looking shifty. 

‘I’m not a cop,’ Brienne said. ‘I just want a quiet place to drink.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ the man said, gesturing inside. ‘Enjoy.’ 

The Bear Pit consisted of a small circular room. The bar took almost half the space, where one grey haired gentleman was wiping glasses behind it, and seemingly staring at nothing. Only one of the eight tables was taken, a couple sitting in silence as they sipped their drinks. The lights were dimmed, and there was a pool table crammed to the side, with dusty balls on top. Brienne wasn’t entirely sure this had been the bar she’d been to once before; but it suited her needs tonight. 

‘What can I do for you, love?’ The barman asked, settling the glass he was cleaning down on the bar. He smiled at her, and Brienne felt her shoulders relax a little. He had a kind face, and twinkly eyes. She would be safe here. 

‘Anything with vodka,’ she said. There were two stools set at the bar, and she hauled herself up to one. She didn’t feel much like talking, but she also didn’t want to be on her own. At least sitting here, she felt a little less alone. 

‘You don’t want to say that in a place like this,’ the barman said. He reached under the bar, pulling a bottle of coke up. ‘I could serve you up a White Russian, and I hear you need to have the stomach for one of those.’ 

‘I’ll have you know I once spent a great night drinking White Russians,’ Brienne said, grasping the glass he passed her gratefully. She took a note out of her back pocket and slid it across the bar, only feeling a slight thrill at the action. She thought that was only something they did in the movies. 

‘What made it so great?’ the man asked. He rang her drink up and she was delighted to find that this bar still had one of those old fancy tills where you had to push the buttons and the drawer popped open with a small bang. 

‘No idea,’ she answered. ‘I don’t remember most of it. I woke up the next morning with a terrible headache, thinking ‘that was a great evening.’ 

‘Aye the best ones do usually end that way,’ he said. The door opened, and they both watched as the man who’d been smoking slunk back into the room, before taking a seat at a table and promptly falling asleep. ‘I’m guessing that you haven’t been having such a great time this evening?’ 

‘It’s a bad day,’ she said cautiously. She wasn’t one to overshare, not even with friendly bartenders. ‘I just needed to get away for a while. But I’m only having the one,’ she said, holding up her glass. ‘I’m going to sit here, and enjoy my drink and then I better get back before anyone notices I’m missing.’ 

Not that anyone would, she thought. They’d probably still all be having fun trying on each other’s clothes and telling each other how gorgeous and skinny they were. 

‘That’s what they all say,’ the man said, laughing. 

‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘One drink.’ 

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ 

* 

Brienne was still at The Bear Pit two hours later. She knew this, because there was a clock on the wall behind the bar, and she could see the big hand pointing at the eleven. 

Although, since she was kind of seeing double everything, there was a very good chance she was reading it wrong. 

‘I told you,’ said the barman as he came to take her next order. ‘No one ever only stays for one drink.’ She’d found out over the course of the evening that he was called Davos and that he owned the bar. He didn’t drink himself, but had brought the bar for its rich history; according to the estate agents The Bear Pit had once been a thriving smugglers den. Priceless artifacts had been exchanged under these tables. 

Well, not the actual tables that were in the bar now, because the smuggling was hundreds of years ago, but it was still a very interesting story, Davos had assured her. 

Brienne had agreed. 

‘But I was only supposed to stay for one,’ Brienne said guiltily staring down at the five glasses in front of her. The first one had felt so nice and had gone down so well, that she had thought there would be no harm in a second. She could switch to water and sober up and then go home. But then the third had happened - and Brienne was sure it had been a double -, and then the fourth had just seemed to appear. Or maybe she’d ordered it. Things got a little hazy around drink four. 

The crumpled notes that she’d brought with her had all gone now though, so she supposed she had better make a move soon. She always made sure to carry money on her; you never knew when you’d need it. 

‘I hope you’ve got someone to get you home,’ Davos said. The bar had become busier as the evening wore on, but most people seemed to want to keep to themselves. They’d order their drink, then take a seat keeping their eyes down and not talking to anyone else. 

Brienne thought she might be in love. 

‘I love this bar,’ she said, instead of answering Davos' question. There would be nobody coming to pick her up. She didn’t even have anybody to call; she very much doubted that Margaery or Sansa had their actual mobile phones on them. And even if she knew Petyr Baelish’s number, she wouldn’t call him and ask to be picked up from a bar. 

She was a big girl. She could look after herself. ‘Have I told you I love this bar?’ 

‘Several times,’ Davos said. ‘But I thank you for it.’ 

There was another drink in front of Brienne and she sipped it, closing her eyes. She’d have to walk back. She was in no fit state to drive. 

‘Can I leave my bike here?’ she asked. ‘I can’t take it back with me.’ She opened her eyes, blinking as the neon lights from the signs on the walls assaulted her vision. 

How hadn’t she noticed how bright they were before? 

‘Sure you can,’ he said. ‘I’m in the flat just upstairs tonight, and there’s CCTV. I know the area doesn’t look like much, but nothing will happen to it.’ 

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pick it up tomorrow. Or anytime this week.’ 

‘Why, you off somewhere?’ he asked. 

‘I’m not really supposed to leave the place I’m in,’ Brienne said. There was a trail of water on the bar in front of her, and she drew lines through it. Nobody had said anything to her about The One the entire time she’d been here, and she was enjoying the respite. She hadn’t realised how badly the show was consuming her every waking moment. 

Was she smiling? Did she look okay? Should she stand or sit; what if she slouched like Margaery’s Grandmother had said? Was she coming across okay? Did people like her, or just like that she‘d beaten The Hound up? Was she doing enough to make sure people didn't hate her - but was she doing enough to ensure that she wouldn’t end up marrying Jaime, either as some cruel prank or because the public thought they’d actually be good together? 

Why, why, why did she have his old bike? What kind of sick joke was that? 

‘Oh, Gods, don’t tell me you’re in rehab,’ Davos said, alarmed. ‘Gods, not again.’ There was a slight Irish lilt to his voice. Brienne felt like she could listen to it for days. 

‘Not rehab, I promise,’ she said. ‘I’m taking part in some kind of task. I’m supposed to stay where I won’t get into trouble, but I needed to get out.’ 

‘Everyone has their limit,’ he said. ‘Speaking of, I think you might have reached yours. I’m cutting you off, and not just because I’m not entirely convinced about you not being in rehab. It’s always the ones you don’t suspect.’ 

Brienne sighed as he took her half-finished drink away from her, but didn’t protest. If she wanted to get back before sunrise it was probably a good idea. 

She tried to remember the route she’d taken to get here. There had been a couple of right turns. And she‘d passed another pub on the way. She’d ask for directions to there, and then it was a straight line back to the house. 

‘I better get back,’ she said, sliding off her stool. The man from earlier was still asleep at the table, but the couple had long gone. She steadied herself on the bar. The fresh air would clear her head a little, she knew. 

And she was Brienne Tarth. Her slightly off kilter was still better than most people’s normal. And she didn’t have anything for anyone to take. She‘d be okay. ‘Thank you for tonight. It was just what I needed.’ 

‘Aye, well, I’m glad we could help in some small way. You promise you’ll be okay?’ Davos asked frowning. ‘I don’t like the idea of you out there on your own.’ 

‘I can take care of myself,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back for the bike as soon as I can. Probably Saturday,’ she said. That was a plan. When she got voted off she could come here to celebrate. 

‘I’ll take good care of it for you,’ Davos said. He bid her goodbye, and she left. Oathkeeper would be fine. She had the keys, and even if it did get stolen, she had insurance. Plus, on Saturday it would be on show to the nation; she‘d get it back. 

It looked like she wouldn’t even have to wait long for her fears about it being stolen to come true; as she got closer to her bike, she noticed the man crouching down in front of it, his fingers stroking the side. 

* 

‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her voice a little louder than she’d meant it to be. The man didn’t even flinch. 

‘I doubt it,’ he said. He turned to look at her, but his face was still in shadow; she was blocking out the neon sign and the streetlights had gone out an hour ago. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ He went back to the bike. 

‘I would mind, actually, seeing as it’s my bike you’re feeling up,’ she snapped. 

‘Your bike?’ he repeated, surprised. The man stood, and Brienne was glad to find herself taller than him – only by about an inch, but still. Most men hated that she was taller than them, and it seemed like just the type of thing that would rile this guy up. ‘This is your bike?’ 

‘I just said that,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the documents on me right now but I can mail them to you tomorrow.’ 

‘But you’re a woman,’ the man said. Brienne gave him a dour look he couldn’t see. ‘Aren’t you? You sound like one.’ 

‘Excellent observation skills,’ she said. 

‘You have exquisite taste,’ the man said. There was a note of wistfulness in his voice. ‘I used to have one just like it.’ 

Brienne gave a small laugh. ‘I’m hearing that a lot today.’ She made to take a step closer, but wobbled, and reached to steady herself by holding the back of Oathkeeper. She could feel the neon sign wash over her face as she tried to steady the world around her. 

When she looked back the man had retreated from the bike and from her. He was now standing in front of a car idling at the curb. 

‘Are you alright?’ he asked. ‘You seem a little ill.’ 

‘I had a bad day, and now I’m a little drunk,’ she admitted. The lights from The Bear Pit were still shining, so Davos hadn’t gone upstairs yet. She could always run back inside if anything started. 

Well. She could scream for help. She had a feeling running might be out of the question in her current state. The air she’d been hoping for to wake her up wasn’t forthcoming. The warmness of the day had ticked over to the night. There wasn’t even a breeze to ruffle her hair. ‘But I’m still not above kicking your arse if you attempt to steal my bike.’ 

‘Do you always threaten strangers with violence after just meeting them?’ he asked. There was a smirk in his voice. ‘And I’m not going to steal your bike. I just...wanted to see it.’ 

‘And now you have, so you can be on your way,’ she said, standing up. She knew from past experiences that she had about an hour before she’d be dog tired and tempted to curl up at whatever spot she was in. 

And while Petyr might let them out at night, as long as they didn’t get caught, there would be hell to pay if she wasn’t in her room in the morning. 

‘What made your day so bad?’ he asked. ‘You don’t seem like the type to get drunk with no reason.’ 

‘What is it with everyone commenting on what type of person I seem like?’ she muttered to herself. ‘It doesn’t matter what happened,’ she said. ‘It’s over now.’ The next words left her lips before she’d realised she’d spoken aloud. ‘At least till next year.’ 

‘An anniversary?’ the man said. Brienne looked at him. He was still in the shadows, and she was still seeing if not double, then at least one and a half of everything. It was very hard for her to pick out any details with the slight swaying he was doing. ‘I have one of them too.’ 

‘Then you know,’ she shrugged. 

‘I do. And I’m sorry.’ She shrugged again. 

‘As you said – most people have at least one day of bad memories. This is how I deal with mine.’ 

Brienne wanted to start her walking, but she was loathe to leave this man alone with her bike. Who stopped to stare at a bike in a random bar car park? 

Thieves, that was who. 

‘Listen, you seem a little out of sorts, and I can’t help but notice that if you rode this bike here, you are now in no fit state to drive it back. We’re the only two people around, and I very much doubt you live in one of the houses opposite. How do you plan to get back to the place you’re staying?’ 

‘It’s a very nice night for a walk,’ Brienne said haughtily. She was so stupid. One drink. She was supposed to have one drink, sipped slowly and then Go.Back.To.The.House. 

What a time for her to be the most careless she’d ever been. 

‘You don’t seem in a fit state to walk either,’ the man said. ‘I have a car. I could give you a lift.’ 

‘And why would you want to do that?’ Brienne asked. 

She saw him shrug. ‘You’re a damsel in distress and let’s say I fancy myself as a knight in shining armor.’ 

Brienne laughed. She’d been called a lot of things in her life but a damsel in distress was not one of them. ‘I am not a damsel and I very much doubt you are anything close to a knight.’ 

‘You wound me,’ he said, but she felt like he was grinning. Her eyes strayed to the car he was standing against. She could see it was a taxi from the light on top, although it was dark now. If it was a genuine taxi, he must be paying a fortune for it. 

‘Let’s say I believe you just so happened to be on your way home from a night out when you got your taxi to pull over because you noticed a bike that looked like the one you used to have,’ Brienne said. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re offering me a lift.’ 

‘Because it’s late and you’re tired and you’ve had a bad day. It wouldn’t be fair to make you walk back to the house, not when I can help you.’ He signed. ‘You should be snatching my hand off. I don’t usually put myself out to help people.’ 

‘What makes me so special?’ she asked, although it was more to herself than to him. Her mind was ninety percent made up; she was getting a lift home. She knew this was how horror stories started, but Davos had mentioned CCTV; if anything did happen to her, they had the man and his car on camera. 

And there were still good people in the world. She was one, and her friends were others. Not everybody was a bloodthirsty serial killer. 

‘I don’t know,’ the man said. ‘What does make you special?’ He cleared his throat. ‘If it makes you feel better, I’ll sit in the front and you can sit in the back. Deal? I won’t even talk to you.’ 

‘Alright,’ Brienne said, moving towards the car. ‘Thank you.’ The words were stiff as they left her mouth, but she climbed into the car, sinking down into the seats. 

She’d been in the car for ten minutes when she realised she’d forgotten to even tell the man the address of the house. She opened her eyes, to inform him, but was distracted. In the half-light she could see the man’s broad shoulders relaxed under a white shirt and his slightly longer than average dark blond hair that curled just under his ears. 

She tore her eyes away, feeling the blush build up on her cheeks. She didn’t ogle strangers. Not even the back of them. 

The car streaked past the outside world, a familiar pub taking shape for a second before it too was gone. They’d passed King’s Landing. 

Brienne hadn’t told them where to go. 

A cold feeling spread over her, followed by a rush of warmth. Petyr. This guy had to be one of his spies. Of course Petyr would have them followed if they left the house; how else would the stories spread if they did get up to something news worthy? She was an idiot for not realising this sooner. 

Brienne never thought she would feel grateful for Petyr Baelish, and yet here she was. There were advantages to knowing everything and spying. 

When they pulled onto the driveway a few minutes later, Brienne felt another rush. She was back. She could sneak in before anyone noticed she was missing and put this whole night behind her. 

She’d had an adventure and discovered a little safe haven tucked away in the streets of London; Gal would have been proud. 

‘Thank you,’ she said as she opened the door. 

‘I’d offer to take you to the door, but I think that might be a bad idea. If anyone saw...’ the man said. He didn’t turn around. 

‘This is fine,’ she insisted. ‘I really mean it. Thank you.’ She slipped from the door, stumbling a little as she hit the ground then trudged up the pathway. The house was dark as she approached, no lights shinning from the living room window, no sounds coming from inside. 

It wasn’t a surprise that the door was unlocked. The man had obviously sent word ahead to let them know someone wasn’t in the place they were supposed to be. 

Plus, Brienne was usually the one who checked it each night on her way up to bed – that the other girls might have forgotten a basic safety check wasn’t surprising either. 

As she reached her room, she smiled, glad to be back. A night out was good for her. It had been just what she needed. 

She fell onto her bed, not bothering to get changed and was snoring softly before three seconds had passed. 

* 

Gods, Gods, Gods, Brienne thought as she opened her eyes, wincing at the light streaming through the window. What the hell is going on? There was laughing outside her door, and light in her eyes and somebody banging a rather large drum inside her head. 

Brienne hadn't had a hangover for a few years now. On the nights she had drunk – usually due to peer pressure – she'd been fine the next morning. A little slower maybe but nothing as bad as this. 

No wonder people swore off drinking. Who could handle this for a whole day? 

There was a pounding and she put a hand to her temple to try and massage the headache away. She had something important to do today. If only she could remember what it was. 

‘Brienne!’ The door burst open with a bang, and she sat up in bed, startled, staring at a wild-eyed Margaery. ‘I’ve been knocking for ages! Didn't you hear me?’ 

Confessing that she’d confused Margaery with her headache didn’t seem to be the way to go. 

‘I suppose I must have been in a deep sleep,’ Brienne said. She cleared her throat. She sounded horse, and her mouth tasted like ashes. She glanced in the mirror on her wardrobe opposite her bed and then wished she hadn’t. 

‘Gods, you’re really not well are you?’ Margaery said. ‘You poor thing! Do you want me to speak to Varys and see if we can arrange something? You’ve done your part, and you won’t be missing anything today. Depending on what Daenerys has, that is. Nobody else has anything special to show.’ 

‘Right,’ Brienne said. She was filming today. The last of the prized possessions. ‘No, I’m fine, just a headache is all. What time is it?’ 

‘Eleven,’ Margaery said, sounding apologetic. ‘We wanted to come and get you for breakfast but we knew you weren’t feeling well, so we thought it best to leave you. But you know we were supposed to start filming five minutes ago so we really had no choice. Sansa’s stalling them before Varys sends one of the producers up to come get you.’ 

She was supposed to have been downstairs five minutes ago. And there were still pillow creases on her face. 

There was only one thing for it, and even though she was regretting the words as she said them, Brienne knew she had no choice. 

‘Margaery,’ she said. ‘I need your help.’ 

‘Why do you think I’m here?’ Margaery said, a manic twinkle in her eye. ‘Me and Sansa played rock, paper, scissors to see who’d get to come up here.’ 

‘Oh Gods,’ Brienne whispered. 

‘Shut up, and get undressed,’ Margaery said. ‘We have five minutes before Sansa’s finished talking about all the people she knows who Varys has destroyed over the years and someone else comes looking for us.’ She was already buried in Brienne’s wardrobe, rifling through the clothes. A pair of underwear was flung at Brienne, quickly followed by a blue wool dress. There was a tie around the middle and it reached just above Brienne’s knees. It was another piece from the wardrobe department. ‘No arguments, just pull it on,’ Margaery said. She was enjoying this a little bit too much for Brienne’s liking. ‘It’s a hot day so we won’t bother with tights. I know it’s wool, but it’s a thin wool. You’ll be fine. You might have to go braless, but you can get away it.’ The memory of the girls in the living room from the night before came back to Brienne then, and she averted her eyes, before following Margaery’s instructions. Now wasn’t the time to ask about it. ‘And then these,’ Margaery said, pulling out a pair of brown heels and shoving them at Brienne. ‘Now it’s time for hair and make-up.’ Brienne sat down on the bed, and let Margaery do what she had to. 

She didn’t look when she was pronounced finished, just left the room, walking as quickly as she could in the heels. They were only three inches, but it that was three inches too much for Brienne. 

‘I’m so glad you let me do this,’ Margaery said as they power walked down the stairs, heading for the garden. ‘You have to make a good impression today - and the blue will tie everything nicely together, don’t you think?’ 

‘Sure,’ Brienne said. Then she relented. ‘Thank you for helping me. I either would have shown up as I was, or....no I would have shown up as I was.’ 

‘What are friends for?’ Margaery said, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘I’m here anytime, Brienne. For anything you need.’ 

‘Finally!’ Ramsey bellowed as they entered the garden. ‘Now we’re all here, could we finally get on with the filming please?’ 

‘Gods, he’s a dick,’ said someone next to Brienne, ‘if he keeps thinking he’s running this show I might have to set you on him. Isn’t Mummy smart? Yes, she is. Get the bad man.’ Joffrey yipped at Cersei’s words and Brienne kept her head straight ahead. 

She didn’t think she’d ever like Cersei. But at least there was a sense of humour in there somewhere. 

Even if Brienne suspected Joffrey would actually be set on Ramsey at some point. 

Varys led them into filming, Ellaria standing in the middle. 

‘I have nothing to show you,’ she said gesturing around at everyone. ‘I don’t believe in material things. Life is too short to hold onto something that can be easily broken. If it’s meant to be in your life, you will have it; it not, you won’t. It’s not something you can hang on a wall, or take from a building on fire; but if something were in danger of burning to the ground, I would just be thankful to get out alive. I would not care about grabbing anything to take with me.’ She smiled around at them all. 

‘I love the sentiment,’ Tyrion said. ‘But how do you feel about people who put store in material items? Would it bug you that Jaime likes the occasional shopping trip?’ 

Ellaria laughed, her neck arching back, her curly hair bobbing around her shoulders. Gold rings glinted on her fingers and she’d taken a page out of Sansa’s book by wearing all black. It suited her. ‘I did not say I don’t enjoy shopping! I can spend as much as the next person. I just don't think you should put your happiness in cute trinkets. And you’d be surprised how little time people have to spend with me to come around to my way of thinking. I can be very persuasive when I want to be.’ Her voice lowered to a growl. 

‘And that’s why you get all the high paying jobs,’ Tyrion said. 

‘I am good at what I do,’ Ellaria said. She stood blinking the light of another hot day, but there wasn’t much they could do to stretch out literally ‘nothing.’ 

Brienne wished she could have sunglasses. But they were forbidden while filming was happening; cameras needed to be able to capture everything someone was feeling. 

She also wished she could have had a painkiller and some water to wash her mouth out with. But they hadn’t been told they could leave yet, and Gilly was standing in front of them all, fiddling with something tiny her hands. 

‘Gilly,’ Varys said smiling, ‘what is your prized possession?’ 

‘Well,’ Gilly said, ‘I didn’t really have anything for this task. My father isn’t one to buy his children anything except the basics; food and clothing. I don’t really have personal possessions.’ A smile bloomed across her face. ‘I spoke about my fears to someone I’ve grown close to here. Really close to. And they gave me this.’ She held up the item in her hand, the tiny thimble barely visible in the strong sunlight. ‘It was their mother’s. They gave it to them when they left home. It’s supposed to bring luck and good fortune. It’s a china thimble.’ 

‘Excellent!’ Varys said. ‘And which of our delightful women have you grown so close to they’d give you something so precious to them?’ 

‘Oh,’ said Gilly, a thunderstruck expression on her face. Sam Tarly who’d been watching the segment with interest hastily turned away, pretending to read something on his phone. ‘You know, I’d rather not say. I don’t want to embarrass them!’ A few of the women started to chuckle, like it was some funny secret between them all. ‘They’ve just come to mean a lot to me in a short space of time. I’ve told them all my secrets,’ Gilly said. She passed a hand over her stomach, almost as an afterthought, and another suspicion started to take root in Brienne’s mind. 

Gilly had protected her stomach during the fight with Ygritte. She went to bed earlier than everyone else, and there had been a couple of mornings where she’d emerged from the bathroom looking a little worse for wear. 

If anyone else pieced this together, Petyr was going to get all the drama he could possibly want. 

‘Thank you for that, Gilly!’ Varys said, clapping his hands together once. Tyrion hadn't even had a chance to speak, but he looked grateful for the respite. A china thimble was interesting – but for about five seconds. Once you’d seen it, there wasn’t much of a discussion to have. 

‘Ladies, if you’d like to take a little break and come back in five minutes.' Varys let them go, and there was a scramble as everyone shot for the den. 

‘I’m so jealous,’ Sansa said, appearing at Brienne’s side. She was in another all black outfit; a black shift dress that tied at the side and black pointy shoes. It was an outfit entirely too grown up for her, and Brienne couldn’t help thinking how much she looked like her mother. 

Brienne wondered how Catelyn Stark was taking her daughter’s progress in this contest. If she thought Sansa’s father would be mad, her mother would be furious. ‘You do know that now you‘ve let Margaery dress you up, you have to let me? It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.’ 

‘I thought you played for the honour?’ Brienne said. She was rooting around in the fridges inside the den, locating the bottled water at the back. She needed to track down a producer and ask for a painkiller. 

She’d prefer to ask Sam, but he seemed a little pre-occupied. Gilly had rushed to his side as soon as filming had halted. 

‘We did, but you still have to let me make you over. That‘s just the rules of friendship,’ Sansa said. 

‘I thought friendship was about loving the person for who they were?’ Brienne said. ‘Even if they don’t quite live up to your standards.’ 

Sansa pouted. ‘If I let you decide how to dress me and style my hair and do my make-up you know Margaery will only moan about how she just had five minutes, don’t you?' Brienne said. 'I’m not letting you do it and then her do it again. Once was more than enough, thank you.’ 

Sansa was still pouting, and Brienne suppressed a sigh. Why was she such a push over when it came to Sansa? ‘If I ever need help again, I’ll come to you, okay?’ she said. ‘But that’s all I’m offering.’ 

‘That’s all I’m asking for,’ Sansa said, grabbing Brienne in a hug. Brienne had to breathe through her mouth. Sansa’s perfume was strong and it made the drinks from the night before want to make a reappearance. 

‘I’ve never seen that dress before,’ Brienne said, keen to move the subject on. She vowed to set her alarm two hours earlier from now on. There was no way she could subject herself to Sansa’s whims. She’d be in a mini skirt and smoky eye make-up before you could say ‘raccoon.’ 

‘Ellaria lent it to me after last night,’ Sansa said, pulling at the material and making a face. ‘It’s not something I’d usually ever wear, but I’ve run out of black clothes already so I had to find something. It was a good idea of Cersei’s wasn’t it? You should have come.’ 

‘Hmm,’ said Brienne, playing with the bottle of water. ‘Cersei’s idea?’ 

‘Yeah. She just came barging into my room and announced her plans. Something about it being a ‘bonding experience’.’ 

‘What’s this?’ Margaery said, appearing at their side. ‘What’s a bonding experience?’ She held a slim grey box out to Brienne, and Brienne almost wept with relief. Pain killers. 

She was so out of sorts she even felt like hugging Margaery; but then the other girl would know something was definitely up. And Brienne didn’t want to tell them about sneaking out of the house, and riding Oathkeeper without a helmet, or getting a little too drunk to come back home. They’d want to know all about the guy who’d brought her home, and Brienne wasn’t in the mood to talk about that. 

Oh Gods. There had been a guy who had brought her home. How had she forgotten him until just now? He’d think she was an idiot. 

‘Cersei’s little party last night,’ Sansa said. They were called back to their places, but walked slow to continue their conversation, Brienne taking two painkillers. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t want to come Brienne. It would have been just the thing to get you out of your head last night.’ 

‘Hmm,’ Brienne said again. She couldn’t remember the guy telling her his name last night – but she wasn’t sure if it because he hadn’t told her it, or that she just couldn’t recall it. She’d had a lot to drink. 

Sansa went to stand in the middle next to the covered pillar. Today it was covered in a blue cloth. 

‘Cersei didn’t tell you, did she?’ Margaery said. ‘When I got to the living room, I thought it was odd you weren’t there, but Sansa pulled me aside and explained about the day. And when we asked Cersei, she told us that of course she’d invited you but you’d told her you weren’t feeling that well and just wanted to be left alone.’ She shook her head. ‘I don‘t know why I believed her. Trusting Cersei Baratheon is the stupidest thing a person can do.’ 

‘You are anything but stupid,’ Brienne said. ‘And I wouldn’t have wanted to join in anyway.’ She didn’t want to burden Margaery any more. ‘The whole clothes swapping thing sounds horrible. I like my clothes. I would have died being forced to try on other peoples.’ 

‘As long as you’re sure you’re okay.’ 

‘Once the painkillers kick in, I’ll be alright,’ Brienne said. 

‘If you weren’t ill last night, why did you look like death this morning?’ Margaery asked. Brienne was saved having to answer by Ramsay who marched up to them, took Margaery by her arm and forced her to sit down. 

‘Sansa Stark,’ Varys said once they were all settled. ‘Please, tell us about your item.’ 

‘Well,’ Sansa said, giggling. ‘As everybody knows I love fashion. Clothes, shoes, purses. Anything you can wear, I adore. But I have a very special place in my heart for bags. And one bag in particular.’ She yanked the cloth off, revealing a soft blue leather handbag to everyone. 

Yara let out a low whistle. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ she asked. 

‘Yep,’ Sansa said proudly. ‘This, right here, is a Sapphire.’ She said the name in a hushed tone like it was a secret. 

A very exclusive secret. 

‘For those not in the know, why don’t you explain a little,’ Varys said. 

‘Of course.’ Sansa stood up a little taller before launching into her speech. 

Brienne couldn’t stop thinking about the man from last night. He’d been blond. 

‘Sapphire is the height of branded luxury. Forgot Birkin; the Sapphire Bag is the must have for those in the know. They make only one style,’ she gestured to the simple handbag in front of her, ‘and in only one colour. The blue is trademarked, and people have paid millions to have their homes painted the exact same shade. There’s a seven-year waiting list for a bag. Every bag is hand stitched and made of the softest leather. It’s not just a bag; it’s an exquisite piece of art. But the Sapphire brand doesn’t just end there; you may remember the first night, I was wearing a stunning dress also by Sapphire. A few years after the bags release, when demand reached it’s all-time peak, the owner decided to brand out into clothing and home-ware. All hand crafted too of course, but easier pieces to make. And, of course, everything that comes from Sapphire, is this shade of blue.’ 

‘And who is this mysterious designer?’ Tyrion asked. He was staring at the bag. ‘Forgive me. Fashion isn’t my forte. I’ve heard of the Sapphire brand, obviously, but the small details escape me.’ 

‘Well,’ Sansa said, hesitating. ‘I know he had a smaller company making home-ware years ago. But when he launched the Sapphire Brand, he relaunched himself and gave himself a nickname. I can’t quite remember what the nickname is, but he signs ES on all of the designs.’ 

‘Interesting,’ Tyrion said. ‘It’s a fantastic item, Sansa. And, though I think the shade is a trifle darker, the handbag and the stone in my brother’s sword would look excellent together. A Sapphire and a literal sapphire together. Wouldn’t that be nice?’ 

Sansa’s face had grown more and more closed off as Tyrion continued to speak. 

‘Yes,’ she eventually forced out. She looked back at the bag like it had personally offended her. ‘I suppose it would.’ 

‘And how did you manage to get one of these bags?’ Cersei asked. ‘The waiting list is ridiculous, and I happen to know that the designer cannot be bribed. Since your parent’s company went down the drain, surely they couldn’t afford that?’ 

‘Let’s just say I have friends in high places,’ Sansa said. ‘You couldn’t get one then, Cersei? How terrible.’ 

‘Can I just hold it?’ Yara asked. ‘I understand if you don’t want people to touch it, but I never thought I’d be in the same room as one. Well, apart from the one they have encased in a glass box in the center of their Central London store, but to actually hold one – that I never thought would happen.’ 

‘Here,’ Sansa said, plucking the bag from its plinth, and handing it to Yara. ‘Enjoy!’ The bag was passed around. Some of the women caressed it, like they’d never held anything so precious; some of them nodded, and looked at it, then passed it on. They hadn’t grown up in a world that put so much store in high fashion items, and to them, the Sapphire Bag was just a Bag. 

Brienne almost cried when she held it, and passed it along quickly before anyone could notice. A hangover made her emotional. That was a damn good reason to never get one again. 

‘Cut,’ shouted Ramsay a few minutes later. ‘You’ve got five minutes and then we’ll back for Missandei and Daenerys.' 

The five minutes passed quickly and the they were back, watching as Missandei explained all about the pin she’d brought from home. She told them the pins were given to every boy who came through their camp, and each time they achieved a goal, a tally was carved into the metal. 

The one she held was covered in marks, and she got choked up when she spoke about it. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I miss hi-, I miss home, so much.’ 

‘It’s understandable,’ Tyrion said, getting up to comfort her. ‘The pin is nice.’ 

‘I have spare ones,’ Missandei said. ‘I can get you one if you like.’ 

‘I would love it,’ Tyrion said. 

Brienne was itching for this to be over. She wanted to go back to her room and – and what? Think more about the mysterious man from last night? Panic at the fact that she’d left her bike in the car park of some dive bar, even if she had loved it, and trusted the Davos man who owned the place? 

‘And now for our final segment,’ Varys said, and Brienne was sure she wasn’t the only one who sighed with relief. No more filming till Saturday night. ‘Daenerys, what do you have to show us?’ 

‘These are very special to me,’ Daenerys said. She was wearing a flowing blue silk dress today that pooled on the floor like water. Her silver hair had been left down and there wasn’t an inch of make-up on her face. 

She looked young. She looked innocent. ‘My father was a complicated man. He and my mother never married, but she couldn’t quite tear herself away from him. They had three children together; me and my two older brothers. When I was young, my mother finally came to her senses. She took us all away. We didn’t see my father again until I was thirteen.’ She stoked the small black case that rested on the table in front of her. ‘He gave these to me when I turned sixteen. Said a woman needed to know how to protect herself; there were many unkind men out there.’ She laughed, a bitterness spreading though the sound. 

Her speech captured everyone. Nobody was twitching, or looking away or lost in their own thoughts. Daenerys was compelling; even Joffrey was sitting still in Cersei’s arms. 

‘I learned how to use them, and I always kept one on my person. He was right. There were many unkind men I encountered, who thought I was too girlish or too weak to do anything. I soon showed them. When my father left this world, a few years ago, I was angry. So angry, I vowed to do whatever it took to get my revenge.’ 

‘And did you?’ Varys asked. 

Daenerys smiled, a cruel cold smile that radiated power. Brienne was sure she wasn’t the only one who would have done anything Daenerys asked of her in that moment. 

‘We’ll see,’ she said, then flipped the catch on the case, and throwing it open. 

They had to stand to look. 

Nestled inside the white fluffy lining, were three daggers. The first two were red and green, the same size. They looked wicked, with their curved handles and sharp ends. 

But the third one was the masterpiece. Longer than the other two, it was a cruel looking thing. Black, and looking so sharp that even just staring at it Brienne felt like it was carving up her insides. All the breath had been sucked out of the women. These were dangerous weapons. 

‘I’ve given them all nicknames,’ Daenerys said. 

‘They’re beautiful,’ Tyrion said. He’d pulled a chair over to stare at the case. ‘And, I imagine deadly.’ 

‘Only if I want them to be,’ Daenerys said. 

‘And you said you’ve used them on people?’ Tyrion questioned. ‘Could you provide more details?’ 

Daenerys stared at him for a long moment. The very air itself seemed to still. Was she about to recount them all with horror stories? She was an unknown. She kept to herself mostly, although she had bonded with Missandei and the two were never far from each other.  
But nobody knew much about her. 

They didn’t know anything at all about her. And she wanted revenge. 

Then Daenerys laughed, snapping the case shut. It was a normal laugh, one filled with humour and joy. 

‘Your faces!’ she said, pointing at them all. ‘Do you really believe I’m capable of wielding one of those daggers? They look like they’d cut you as soon as you touched one.’ 

‘You were lying?’ Tyrion said, confusion evident in his voice. 

Daenerys shrugged. ‘Petyr wanted drama, and I just thought the stories today could use a little spicing up. The story about my mother and father is true; and he did give them to me. And I do love them. But of course, I haven’t used them to threaten people? Just who do you think I am?’ There was scattered laughter around the group, and then Varys was smiling and wrapping things up and people were drifting away. 

Tyrion was complementing Daenerys on a job well done and she was laughing, smiling at everyone around her at how she’d fooled them all. 

But her hand was clutching the handle of the case so tightly her knuckles were turning white, and Brienne couldn’t help noticing the gleam in the violet eyes as Daenerys turned away, heading back towards the house. 

* 

The man from last night probably thought she was an idiot. He’d probably sat around the office this morning, with all Mr Baelish’s other spies, laughing at her, recounting the story. How she’d got drunk, and would have had to walk back if it wasn’t for him. 

He’d probably sent a report straight to Petyr, detailing her entire boring evening. Brienne broke out in a cold sweat at that; what if he’d taken photos and the media got hold of them? That would cause drama. She hadn’t heard from Margaery about the articles published this week, although they’d had very little time with no cameras so far. 

But Margaery would have said something if there had been an article about Brienne. 

Most of the women were lounging around in the living room, with a few notable exceptions; Cersei and Joffrey, Gilly and Myranda. Everyone was back in casual clothes now the cameras had rolled out. No more filming until Saturday night. 

‘You haven’t told me why you feel so rough today,’ Margaery said as she took a seat next to Brienne. 

‘I didn’t get a lot of sleep,’ Brienne said. She hesitated, but Margaery was still looking at her, not buying that trivial excuse. Brienne could function on little sleep; she was well known in the group for only needing four hours to be a normal human the next day. ‘And I took a bottle of vodka up with me and tried to drown my sorrows.’ She winced at the choice of words. What a dumb saying. 

She’d never realised it before. ‘It’s the one day of the year I allow myself to drink.’ 

‘Unless we pressure you into it,’ Sansa said, plopping down on Brienne’s other side and handing around a packet of biscuits. They had their evening meals delivered, but the crew wouldn’t be here for another couple of hours. ‘I still remember that night you got drunk off White Russians after we dared you to drink them. We couldn’t believe you didn’t throw up; I was gagging at just the look of them.’ 

‘Strong stomach,’ Brienne said. 

‘Anyway, since you missed out on all the fun last night, we were thinking we could do something interesting this evening,’ Margaery said, taking a biscuit and biting into it. Not a crumb fell down. ‘We’re going to take over the TV and load up on the best loved girlie films; Legally Blonde. Miss Congeniality. 10 Thing I Hate About You. Love Actually. All the classics.’ 

‘Actually,’ Brienne said, the words leaving her mouth before she’d even fully thought of them. ‘I’m still feeling a little delicate. Can we rain check? Just until tomorrow. We can make a whole day of it! Cram more films into the viewing pile. You didn’t even mention Some Kind of Wonderful or Bridget Jones and you know it’s not really a rom-com fest without them.’ 

‘Or The Princess Diaries,’ Sansa said. 

Margaery pursed her lips a little, but then pulled herself together. ‘Fine,’ she agreed. ‘But only because I’ve been dying to watch The Princess Bride and if we don’t have a whole day you’ll both veto it.’ 

Brienne nodded, feeling a blush creep up her face. She hated lying to her friends, and she hadn’t even fully realised she was doing it just now. 

She wasn’t going to spending the night in her room, huddled on her bed like a good girl. She was going to go back to The Bear Pit, invoking the driver at the front of the house to get her there. She was going to get her bike back. 

And, if the man from last happened to show up again, well. She could apologise to him for her state last night. Thank him again. Maybe, put a name to the voice. 

There was a loud crash from upstairs, followed by several shrieks. Brienne was up and out of her seat, the crowd of women following her lead as she raced up the stairs. Please don’t be Cersei again, she thought, relieved to see the blonde crown of hair on the first floor, her head poking out of her room, frowning. There was a gel filled eye mask pushed to the top of her head and she blinked as they all went rushing past. 

Brienne heard the click of her door as it closed on them again. 

When they got to the third floor, it was apparent what had caused the crash. Brienne stopped dead, then almost backed up into Yara who was behind her, as she stumbled out an apology, turning her back on the scene. 

‘Why don’t you take a picture?’ said Ramsey the cameraman from the floor where he was sprawled out, naked, lying on the remains of a broken wardrobe. It had stood in the hallway, empty for as long as they’d been here. Brienne hadn't even been aware it opened. 

Myranda, also naked, was on top of Ramsey. ‘Unless you want to join in, you can leave,’ she said. 

There was a lot more bumbling as the women made a hasty retreat, back down the stairs, all of them keeping their heads down. 

‘So,’ Ygritte said when they reached the living room again. ‘That’s Myranda and Ramsey and Gilly and Sam. They say things come in threes. Anyone else fucking or falling in love with somebody on this show?’ 

Everyone shook their heads. 

‘Well,’ Yara said, retaking her place tucked up on the sofa and reaching for the remote, ‘there’s still a few weeks left. Plenty of time to see what happens.’ 

* 

The neon sign was lit up again, bathing the surrounding area in its harsh pink glow. And there was Oathkeeper, sitting just where she’d left it last night. 

‘I don’t need a ride back,’ Brienne said, leaning forward to speak to the driver. ‘My bike is here.’ He met her eyes in the mirror, gave her one quick nod and then watched as she exited the car, before pulling away from the curb and heading back to the house. 

At least Brienne assumed that was where he was going. He hadn’t said a word to her for the whole journey, just plugging the name of the bar into his SatNav before pulling away. 

He watched her though. With cold dark eyes, that unnerved her. She liked to think that was why it had taken her so long to realise the man from last night was another of Petyr’s spies; they all followed the same pattern. Eyes that watched. A slight air of darkness around them. 

The man from last night hadn’t seemed like that at all. Granted, it had been dark and Brienne had been drunk, but from the way he’d spoken Brienne got the impression that he was his own person. Not living in anyone’s pocket. 

‘I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,’ said Davos as she pushed the door open. All the tables were empty right now, but it was a little later than it had been last night. The guy who'd fallen asleep at the table last night, wasn't here either. 

‘I didn’t want to leave my bike,’ Brienne said, taking a seat on the same stool from last night. She might as well have a drink while she was here. She didn’t want to be rude, after all. 

And the guy obviously wasn’t here. Maybe she should wait a little while for him to make an appearance. If he was following her on Petyr’s orders, he wouldn’t be too long. 

Brienne didn’t know what had come over her; but for some reason, she was convinced he would be here. That he’d come back. 

‘Vodka and coke wasn’t it?’ Davos asked, already pulling a glass out and tipping the soft drink into it. 

‘Just a coke tonight, thanks,’ she said quickly. She didn’t want a repeat of last night. 

‘Aye,’ Davos said, pushing the glass towards her. She sipped it, tapping her fingers against the cool glass and constantly turning her head towards the front door. Would he come in? Or would she have to go outside, find him by Oathkeeper again? ‘You alright, love?’ Davos asked, startling her slightly. ‘’You seem a little twitchy.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ she said. She placed the glass on the bar, spreading her hands out in front of her. She needed to calm down. Why was she so jittery? She didn’t even know that he would come back. It had been one night, and from what she remembered their exchange hadn’t exactly been friendly. 

He’d said it himself; she wasn’t anything special. There was no reason for him to come back. ‘I just wanted to come back and collect my bike. I trust you when you said you’d keep an eye on it, but I just like to make sure it’s safe.’ 

‘Well, I checked on it first thing this morning and it was still there. People around here know me, they wouldn’t take anything from outside. It’s one of the few pleasures you’re guaranteed when you keep your mouth shut.’ 

They spent the next half an hour chatting about the area. Brienne tried to keep her focus on the conversation but she was on high alert. Every time the door opened, she twisted to see who was coming in. 

It was never the man from the night before. 

After another hour she gave up. The man was nowhere to be found, and she needed to get back before someone noticed she was missing. 

She bid Davos goodbye, drained her last Coke, then made her way outside. 

This time she saw the man as soon as she left The Bear Pit. She wasn’t already walking towards him, too drunk to notice something unless it was right in front of her face. 

He was in the same place as last night, staring at Oathkeeper, his fingers stroking the side, like it was something he’d lost but had now found. 

She suddenly understood why; it wasn’t that two separate people had owned bikes that looked like Oathkeeper. It wasn’t because he was Petyr Baelish’s spy, sent to follow her. 

Staring at her bike, with his golden hair, and green eyes, and stupidly handsome face was none other than Jaime Fucking Lannister himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely, lovely comments :) I'm so glad you're enjoying what had turned into an absolute MONSTER of a fic, because there's still a lot more to come...

Jaime hadn’t wanted to go out on Tuesday evening. But Tyrion had convinced everyone to partake in a stupid drinking game he’d made up, so everyone was getting drunk. And ever since Saturday night Jaime had been fielding non-stop phone calls from Cersei as she thought up a million different questions about the episode to ask him. And, during last night’s visit she’d brought Joffrey with her. Jaime was hoping he’d get six weeks without the furry fucker, but no. He should have realised he would be Cersei’s prized possession. She didn’t really form attachments easily; everything was dismissible if she no longer had a use for it. Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella and Jaime himself. They were the only things that mattered to Cersei. 

When Pod had tumbled off the sofa, and even The Hound was bent double laughing, Jaime knew he needed to escape. Sounds were starting to echo in his head, and his grip on his wine glass was growing tighter and tighter with every second. 

He’d told them that he was going to be spend the night at the house he was supposed to be in for the show. And, in fairness, that’s where he had been planning on going. He would need to spend Wednesday there after all, filming more segments for the website. He was going to go straight there. 

But, then, in the taxi on the way, he’d found the idea of the house pressing on him. The silence. The remote location. Cersei hadn’t called him tonight, and he’d be all alone with nothing but his thoughts. 

So he’d asked the taxi driver to go around London. Take the scenic route. He‘d shoved some notes at him through the little window, told him to ask if he went over it, and then settled down into the back seat. The driver had eyed him a little weirdly, but Jaime had his cover story all worked out; if anyone asked why he wasn’t at the house, he would tell them he’d been filming for something coming in the next few weeks. 

They’d driven around for an hour and a half before Jaime noticed something familiar out the corner of his eyes, parked up against the curb, outside a tiny little bar in the grim neighbourhood they were driving through. He’d know that silhouette anywhere – had even dreamed of it some nights. He never thought he’d see it again. 

Of course it belonged to one of the contestants currently competing to win his hand. Of course, it fucking did. Because nothing in his life could ever be simple, could it? People always spoke about the ‘Lannister Luck,’ like it was some intangible thing that everything always seemed to work out just the way they wanted it to. They didn’t know about the backdoor deals, or the (usually meant to be empty) threats. They didn’t know about the chilling smile that implied harm if the Lannister's didn’t get their own way. 

He’d almost fallen over when he’d seen Brienne’s face for the first time. She’d stumbled, clung onto the back of Oathkeeper, and he’d backed up as the neon sign washed over her face. She was instantly recognisable, with that shock of white blonde hair, those long legs, and those blue eyes. 

They were even more stunning when they were turned on you, even if they were a little squinty. 

The offer of a ride home had come from nowhere, too. He couldn’t stand the idea of her walking back to the house the contestants were staying at; Tyrion had mentioned where the house was before. Brienne wouldn’t get back home much before 4am if she walked. 

And, although he didn’t want to admit it, could barely even think the thought to himself, there was something about Brienne; not her unconventional face, nor her eyes; not her long legs or her barbed comments. Just something. 

For whatever reason (and even Jaime knew it to be a horrible one,) she’d decided to trust him; let him give her a lift back to the house. She was too drunk to realise she hadn’t told him where she was staying, and he hadn’t even realised until after he’d dropped her off that neither of them had mentioned the address. 

He hoped she’d forget all about it the next day. Hoped that Cersei would forget why she was pissed at him (and it didn’t take a genius to work out why she was giving him the cold shoulder, on the same night his old motorbike had reappeared). Hoped that life would go back to normal and he’d also forget all about Brienne Tarth. 

Which didn’t explain why he was back at the tiny bar (The Bear Pit), on Wednesday evening, touching Oathkeeper like he’d never get to see it again, and telling himself it was because he couldn’t tear himself away from the bike, not because he was hoping Brienne would be here again, too. 

At least not until a shadow fell across him and he heard ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ 

* 

They were sitting at a table in The Bear Pit. Jaime was trying not to put his elbows on the surface. The jacket he was wearing had cost him eleven hundred pounds and he didn’t much fancy covering it in sticky drink stains. His shoes were already ruined. 

The drinks they’d ordered – both Cokes – were half full in front of them. Brienne kept opening her mouth and then closing it again. Her eyes would dart to his face and she’d stare, before she’d blush and look away again. He had to let her speak first. 

‘Everything okay over here?’ The barman had come over, his eyes steady on Brienne. She gave one short nod. ‘Are you sure you wouldn't like to sit somewhere else? I haven’t had a chance to clean this table since the last customers left.’ He touched a finger to the surface shuddering. ‘I’d hate for anyone to think I don’t keep a clean place.’ 

‘We’re fine,’ Brienne said, sharply. Her tone softened when she spoke again. ‘Sorry, Davos. We’re okay here. But thank you.’ Her smile was small but it seemed to do the trick; Davos left them alone, going back to his place behind the bar. 

Jaime could still feel the barman's eyes on the back of his head through. One wrong move and he’d be thrown out; there was no doubt in his mind about that. 

‘To be perfectly truthfully,’ Jaime said, after Brienne still refused to actually say any of the words running through her mind, ‘I wouldn’t mind moving to a cleaner table.’ 

‘Tough,’ she hissed at him. ‘This is the one furthest from the door, and the light bulb above is blown. We can’t be seen together; we can‘t be seen out in public.’ 

‘Then why are you out in public?’ Jaime asked, sipping his drink. ‘If it’s so against the rules.’ 

‘Why are you?’ she asked. ‘Let me guess; because the rules don’t apply to Lannisters'.’ She said his last name like it was a dirty word. 

‘Only if there’s no way around them,’ he said. ‘And usually there is.’ Her face had deepened into a scowl, and she crossed her arms over her chest. 

Jaime tore his gaze away. She’d pushed up her boobs, and while there wasn’t much there, he still couldn’t help noticing them. 

He was only a man after all. He focused on the peeling posters for bands long since broken up, behind her. 

After she’d spoken to him earlier, she’d turned her back on him and gone straight back into The Bear Pit. It had seemed only natural to follow her. To buy them drinks, and settle down on a table together. 

‘So, why are you back here?’ he asked again. Brienne seemed so unlikely to break the rules of the show. Last night had been an exception; he knew that. What had brought her back? 

‘I left my bike here last night,’ she said. Her lips pursed. ‘Your old bike.’ He wondered if now was the time to make her an offer for Oathkeeper. He’d pay anything she asked, probably even more if he could get it back. That bike had been his life, and he’d missed it terribly. He’d only decided to sell it in a fit of self-pity when he felt like he was never going to be able to ride the damn thing again, not like he’d been able to. 

‘That’s the only reason? It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a knight in shining armour who rescued you?’ 

‘You’re not a knight,’ she said, ‘and I didn’t need rescuing.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘But thank you for helping me, anyway. It would have been a long walk home and I'm grateful you showed up when you did.’ 

‘There, now was that so hard?’ he teased. ‘A simple thank you would have been enough for me, but to know you’re grateful for my existence, that really is the icing on the cake.’ 

‘Don’t push it,’ she muttered, and he grinned down at the table. He felt lighter than he had for years – there was something about being able to tease somebody. He could tell she wasn’t taking his words seriously, even if the scowl on her face said otherwise. But she was still sitting there, still looking at him. If she’d really been offended, she’d have left. 

And she was giving back as good as she got. It was nice. To not have cruelty or scorn laced under every sentence. Jaime hadn’t had that from anyone; not for a very long time. Even Tyrion judged every choice Jaime made, because they were different from the ones he’d have chosen. 

‘I have a question,’ Brienne said now, and Jaime leaned forward. He was expecting something like ‘are you always this annoying?’ or ‘why are you here?’ 

He wasn’t prepared for ‘How do you know I’m breaking rules too? How did you know where I was staying last night? I assumed you were one of Mr Baelish's spies sent to follow me, but you’re not. Just how much about the show you’re supposed to know nothing about, do you know Mr Lannister?’ 

She didn’t seem angry. Just curious. 

He could lie. Say that Tyrion had let some things slip, or that he only knew who the women were – she'd probably believe he’d demanded approval over all of them. 

He made the mistake of meeting her eyes, and the truth spilled out. 

‘I know everything they air,’ he said. ‘And then some.’ 

The door opened again and a bunch of people walked in, their loud laughter travelling to their corner. Brienne shrunk back into the shadows, although it didn’t really make much difference – both of them were tall, and both of them had faces that would make anyone look twice. 

His because it was beautiful. 

Hers because it wasn’t. 

She was wearing less make-up today than she had been yesterday. You could see her freckles through whatever powder she’d put on, little dots that spread over her face, from her cheek to the top of her ear, from her chin to her eyebrows. Jaime found he wanted to trace them, draw on them using his fingers like a child in a dot to dot book. 

‘What if you don’t like who the public choose?’ Brienne asked now, and he blinked coming back to himself. Jesus. Between her legs, and her eyes, and her freckles Brienne was making him feel things he never thought he’d feel for another woman. ‘What if, on your wedding day you’re so disappointed with the woman they’ve chosen - because you know all about her – that your face falls when you see her?’ 

An image of Cersei in a white dress flashed through his mind. But he didn’t want that image – that was her wedding to Robert. It would soon be replaced with one of her wedding to him. Just a few more weeks left to go. 

‘I have complete faith that I will end up with the person I’m supposed to,’ he said. ‘And if I don’t, it’s only a marriage. You can get out of those things pretty easily these days.’ 

‘Well, if I didn’t know before you were only doing this for another crack at the fame, I do now,’ Brienne said. ‘It’s nice to know you’re taking this as seriously as most of the women are.’ There was a small smirk on her face as their eyes met, and then a small flush creeping up her neck. 

‘They don’t want to marry me?’ Jaime said. He kept up the playful tone, but there was a pang in his chest. He didn’t want any of them to want to marry him. It was better that way; nobody could end up heartbroken when Cersei won. ‘I’m crushed.’ 

Another silence fell between them, and after Jaime decided he couldn’t possibly read the band posters any more (what kind of stupid name was The Wildings anyway?) he found himself studying her face. She was staring at the group at the bar, a flicker of grief behind her eyes every now and then. 

‘You never fully told me why you were here last night,’ Jaime said. ‘With everything out in the open, that means you’ve seen my Task Two video. You know about my mother. Was yours the person you were mourning last night?’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said. She took a long sip of her drink, then set the glass on the table carefully before releasing a long breath. ‘My mother has passed, but it wasn’t her anniversary yesterday.’ She shuddered. ‘I hate using the word anniversary to talk about the days they died. It never seems to fit.’ She went quiet again, and Jaime twitched the fingers on his good hand under the table. He wasn’t good with silence. He needed to fill it. ‘It was my brother’s,’ Brienne said, so quietly it took him a second to register her words. 'He was twenty, and he drowned while we were at the beach. A jump gone wrong. I was eight. The day is just hard and being in that house – well, you’ve seen the women. Not all of them are as welcoming as they make out.’ 

His tongue felt too big for his mouth. She seemed so calm, stating the facts like she’d read them from a book, not lived it. 

But he’d seen her last night; Brienne Tarth might play a good part, but inside she was a squirming mess of emotions and she let them loose for one night. 

He liked that he’d seen that. Otherwise he might only know her as the one, as Bronn had put it ‘with a stick up her arse.’ 

‘I’ve heard drowning is a peaceful way to go,’ he said now. ‘Once your lungs stop burning and the panic subsides, you just feel like you’re floating.’ 

‘No one has ever had that response before,’ Brienne said, ‘know a lot about how it feels to die, do you? 

She was studying him. He could almost pinpoint the exact moment her walls came up. 

The exact moment she remembered. 

Jaime Lannister. Murderer. 

‘I should get back,’ she said, standing from the table. ‘I just wanted to say thank you for the lift last night.’ She paused by his shoulder. ‘I hope you do end up married to the one you fall for.’ 

Then she left, and he waited for one second before he was up and out of his seat after her, following her back to Oathkeeper. 

‘Brienne,’ he called, stopping just short of her. He didn't want to scare her. He’d seen her fight, and he still wasn't back to his best – she could react badly if she thought she was in danger. 

She turned around, her eyes still guarded. ‘I don’t want it to end like this,’ he said. ‘I know everyone has heard the stories, but you should know not all of the information out there is true.’ 

‘If all the stories were true, I think I’d be impressed,’ she said. Her hands fiddled with the bottom of her shirt. ‘Some of them are really something. But it’s not a story,’ she said. ‘And the bottom line is still true.’ 

He felt the first stirrings of something he’d never felt then; he wished he could tell her the truth. Only his father, a close friend and the police knew what happened that night, and he had never wanted to tell anyone. Not Cersei, even though he had thought about it; but she hadn’t really cared about what he’d done. Just that he’d lost his hand. 

And Tyrion had been sad for him, but Jaime had still been his big brother; that hadn’t changed and so there was no reason to tell Tyrion the truth. 

‘I know,' he said. ‘But still.’ He didn’t want her to think of him like that. He didn’t want her to feel like she had to walk away from a nice time this evening because of one thing in his past. 

He didn’t want her to leave. 

‘But still,’ she repeated. ‘Look, Mr Lannister, whatever happened in your past is in your past. It doesn’t affect me; why would it?’ 

‘It could matter to you,’ he muttered. He had to keep the illusion up. Even though she didn’t want to be, Brienne still had to think she was in the running. 

‘It won’t,’ she said. ‘You’ll see; Saturday night, I’ll be gone. I’m not beating the shit out of anyone this week; there’s nothing to make me stand out.’ She rubbed a small spot of dirt on Oathkeeper, making Jaime smile. It was good to see his bike had gone to a good home; good to see it still being taken care of. ‘Well, almost nothing.’ 

‘It was good to meet you,’ he said. She was leaving, and he couldn’t stop her. ‘I hope you get what you want out of this, too,’ he added. He couldn’t figure out why she was on the show; she wasn’t attention seeking. From the scorn in her voice earlier when she’d mentioned how he was only doing this for 'another crack at fame’ that wasn’t what she wanted for herself.  
And she didn’t want him. That was obvious. 

‘You know,’ she said, as she climbed onto the bike, turning her head to face him as she spoke, ‘you’re really not like I thought you’d be.’ She stared at him for a few more seconds, then the engine roared to life, and off she went, the sound of Oathkeeper fading as Jaime stood there. 

* 

Thursday meant a visit from Cersei, and Jaime found himself lost in her. He kissed her, and thought about how this was all he’d ever wanted. Her lips. Her hands. 

Her stupid dog yapping outside the hotel room. Jaime refused to let the dog in while they were having sex –Joffrey had developed an unnerving habit of sitting very close to Jaime’s face and growling at him. 

It was quite the passion killer. 

He didn’t think about Brienne at all – or at least he tried not to. There was no reason to think of her, other than to wonder if she would accept an offer for Oathkeeper. If she’d brought the motorbike for her prized possession, she must be attached to it. 

While Cersei slept peacefully next to Jaime, he turned over, pressing his phone, the screen lighting up the dark room. 

No missed calls. 

It was a good thing, he thought, as he snuggled back down into the bed, resting his hand on Cersei’s elbow – she always said she got too warm while she slept and couldn’t stand to be touched during the night. This was all he was allowed to get away with. 

So, Brienne hadn’t gone back to The Bear Pit tonight. He’d given the barman, Davos, his number and asked him to call if she came back. He’d told him about Oathkeeper – how it had been his, and he’d sold it, and now he’d found it again. 

Davos had stared at him, seizing him up, but Jaime had ramped up the Lannister charm and Davos had taken the number. 

It shouldn’t bug him that Brienne hadn’t gone back tonight. He wouldn’t have been able to go anyway. He could just wait for her to leave the show, and then make her an offer. He could ask Tyrion to be his go between and make the offer on his behalf. 

He turned over, not wanting to look at Cersei’s face; not when there was somebody else’s on his mind. 

* 

Friday was spent at the house. They’d been so preoccupied with the women this week that Jaime had been neglected; he hadn’t been contacted by Petyr for a whole week. 

If he was truly taking part in this show, he’d be climbing the walls by now. The TV in the living room was loaded with Netflix, but no other channels. There was a Kindle left on one of the shelves in the bedroom, but Jaime hadn’t even tried to turn it on; he wasn’t a big reader. Or a reader at all, truth be told. He had dyslexia and his father staring down at him from the other end of a table for hours every night while he struggled through high school made waves of shame and guilt crash over him any time he even thought about opening a book now days. 

He spent his day cleaning the house, going around with some wet tissue and wiping away the obvious dust. They’d asked him to do a filler piece for the website, and Tyrion had come up with the suggestion of Jaime cooking. He wasn’t a brilliant cook, but he could rustle up the basics. He’d had to learn after his accident, when he refused to let anyone see him and had become disgusted by all the local take aways. It turned out there was only so many Chicken Chow Mein’s one person could eat. 

On Friday night, he curled up in the small bed, a dread building up within him. Tomorrow he was going to introduce task three to the contestants; except he wasn’t. Because Task Three was F&F week, and Jaime still wasn’t sure what his friends and family were going to make them do. 

His father would be coming in on Monday morning. He had that to look forward to. Tywin would no doubt be enraged about Cersei; about how they’d snuck her into the show. He’d figure out what they were doing, but it was too late for him to do anything about it now. Tyrion had told Jaime he was going to explain to his father that unless Tywin had a genuine reason for voting Cersei off – which he wouldn’t - the public would probably wonder why he’d gotten rid of her. There would probably be some digging. That Cersei was one of their cousins could come to light – and who knew what that would lead to? Maybe somebody finding out about how Tywin had sold a young girl to Robert Baratheon after he’d come to Tywin begging to make the rumours about what had happened to his first girlfriend disappear. Tywin had always denied what he'd done when Jaime had shouted the accusations at him, saying Cersei and Robert had met by chance, but the timings had always just been a bit too suspicious for Jaime's liking. 

Jaime stared at the ceiling, Cersei’s face dancing in front of his eyes. What was he doing? He loved her. Always had. Always would. They were meant to be; because, if they weren’t then what had been the point of the last thirty odd years? 

He had to make this week up to her. All this was for her, and she was feeling nervous and on edge; she did a good job of hiding it, but he could tell. She always got snappier and harsher with him when she felt nervous. 

And she didn’t even know he’d accidentally met Brienne. 

No. He would make it up to her. He had the perfect idea of how to do it too; all he needed was Petyr’s permission. 

And he had a feeling Petyr would love this. 

* 

‘You seem happy,’ Tyrion said the next day as he came into the living room. ‘Why?’ 

‘Because, brother, I’m a genius,’ Jaime said, smiling wide. ‘I’ve had an idea so brilliant that Petyr practically kissed me when I told him it.’ 

‘And what a lovely image that is,’ Tyrion said, sliding onto his usual seat at the table. ‘But, bearing in mind this is the F&F week, may I ask what this idea of yours is? Because I’ve been planning my day for weeks, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.’ 

‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ Jaime said gesturing to the mad rush of people both inside and out of the house. ‘I’m telling Varys all about it in the next hour. Just make sure to keep Sunday free, won’t you?’ 

‘Whatever you say,’ Tyrion muttered. He pulled a book from his bag, then dropped his voice to a whisper and said ‘oh, by the way, somebody called your phone last night. I know you can’t have it here, but I answered; thought you’d like me to take a message.’ 

Jaime's heart dropped. Brienne. She’d been at the bar and he hadn’t and... 

‘Your car is due for it’s MOT,’ Tyrion continued. ‘Do you want me to sort it out for you or do you want to leave it till after the wedding?’ 

* 

‘So, Jaime,’ Varys said. He had on a dark brown robe today covered in a golden pattern. ‘This week, as you know will run slightly differently to the others; you won’t be setting the task for the women. Isn’t that right?’ 

‘It is,’ Jaime said, smiling into the camera. ‘As anyone who watches the American version knows, this week is F&F week. Which means, my dear ladies, you shall be spending one day, in turn, with each of my F&F. They’ll be deciding what you’re spending the day doing. Use it as a chance to bond with them; as you know these five people are the most important people in my life. It would be nice to know I’ll end up with someone who gets along with them.’ 

‘But,’ Varys said, leaning forward. One of the lights was shining directly on his head, and Jaime had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing; the light bounced off the baldness. ‘You’ve also chosen to do something a little different, haven’t you? It won’t only be your F&F we’ll get to know more about this week.’ 

‘No,’ Jaime said. He could see Tyrion tensing out the corner of his eye, but he ignored him. This was for Cersei. Everyone else be dammed. ‘This week, ladies, I ask you to invite your friends and family to the house. For one night only. Sunday evening, there’ll be a party for your loved ones; they can mingle and meet each other. I understand that being in these houses and away from those you love most is difficult.’ 

‘You’ve heard him,’ Varys said. He turned to Jaime. ‘The video will cut off for the women here, but I’ll be in the den to explain it to them. They’ll each get one phone call to invite whoever they want.’ 

‘Excellent,’ Jaime said. Then Varys cleared his throat and turned back to the camera. 

‘For those of you who don’t follow the other version,’ Varys said, ‘the voting will also be different this week. The final ten will be cut down to the final five – but the F&F will decide who makes it there! That’s right – on Saturday night each of the F&F will choose one lady to send home, and away from the contest! Has your favourite done enough to impress?’ 

They had to re-film a few pieces again and by the time Jaime was finally released, Tyrion had schooled his expression into a deep brooding frown. 

‘Cheer up,’ Jaime said. ‘You get to go to the party too.’ 

‘Yes, the party,’ Tyrion said, nodding. Most of the people had left the house now, just a couple of men wrapping up the final cables. ‘The party that might include the Starks in a small space with me, the only Lannister – Father's not coming till Monday.’ 

‘Oh, yes,’ Jaime said. He’d forgotten that the Starks would be invited. 

‘Or perhaps you, like Petyr just wanted to add more drama,’ Tyrion added. ‘In which case potentially putting Brienne’s family members in the same room as the guy who beat her up just a week ago was a brilliant idea.’ 

‘Oh,’ Jaime said again. He hadn’t thought about that either. Tyrion stared at him. 

‘Well,’ he said, sliding down off the chair. ‘At least you’ve thought this through. I’d hate to think this was just some random idea you pulled from your arse so you could have one night where your girlfriend wasn’t a bitch.’ 

With that he stalked from the room. 

Jaime sighed. Maybe he really was stupid after all. 

* 

The tension lingered into Saturday evening. Tyrion, leaning at his usual place on the sofa, glass of wine in his hand refused to meet Jaime’s eye. He was still making the odd cutting remark to the others when they spoke, but he’d been with the women all week; he alone knew every single item the viewing public were about to see. He should be telling them all about it, instead of keeping tight lipped. 

Bronn was sitting at the computer, clicking his way around the monitors, the irritating tapping of keys jangling Jaime’s already frayed nerves. The show hadn’t even opened yet; which meant the voting lines weren’t yet open. Gods knew what Bronn was doing. Pod was on the floor again, his legs pulled under his chin, his phone in his hand. The Hound was back again, sitting by the door, arms folded over his chest. 

It appeared as though Tyrion hadn’t informed any of them that they’d be giving up their Sunday evening this week for the show. He’d think leaving that for Jaime would be a fitting punishment. 

‘Anything interesting this week?’ Bronn said, spinning around in his chair. The show would be starting in the next few minutes, an advert for chocolate currently showing. ‘Nobody ‘pushes’ anyone else down the stairs? Nobody beats the shit out of anyone?’ 

‘They were bringing in their most prized items. What are you expecting, one of them to come out with some knuckle dusters and challenge the others to a fight?’ 

‘After last week I’m not counting anything out,’ Bronn said. 

‘There is no fighting this week,’ Tyrion said. He leaned forward to pour himself another glass of wine. Everyone stared at the glass, and then hurriedly away. Commenting on Tyrion’s drinking never went down well. 

And he was stressed. Their father was coming. Even Jaime felt the shivers up his back as he thought about being in the same room as his father‘s wrath, and his father generally liked him. Tyrion put a good face on, but Tywin needed to be prepared for; which, in Tyrion’s case meant drinking. 

‘It’s starting,’ said Pod as the opening credits began. This week the voices were squealing or gasping, and one exclaimed ‘Oh My Gods,’ which Jaime thought probably came from Margaery. 

‘According to reports they’ve been over 120 complaints about last week's episode,’ Tyrion said. ‘Which means the entire show is under investigation. Petyr isn’t happy about that.’ 

‘There’s only a few weeks left,’ said Pod. ‘They can’t do anything in that time, can they?’ Tyrion shrugged. 

‘I’ve never had much to do with TV. I’m not entirely sure of the timings and such, but I do know that if they deem it unsuitable, then yes they could pull the rest of the show. I’m not sure even a Lannister bribe could help to smooth things over.’ 

A silence settled as on TV the screen faded from Varys welcoming the viewers, to the women in the den. There was Cersei, once again in the middle of the sofa, and – Jaime made himself count to five before he moved his eyes away from his girlfriend – there was Brienne behind her. There was a coffee cup grasped in her hands, and the bruises from her fight with The Hound still lingered on her face. In the shock of meeting her, Jaime had forgotten all about her injuries. They stared at him now, a sickly greenish yellow colour, like leaves in autumn. He wondered if she could still feel the taunt muscles when they met. If her jaw still ached when she yawned, or her thighs still sang when she stood for too long. Jaime had had the after effects from fights last a whole lot longer than a week. 

But there was Brienne, her slightly gormless look on her face as she watched the TV featuring Jaime and Varys, talking about Jaime's sword. A soft smile over took as she watched them on screen, and there was a tightening in Jaime’s chest. Several of the other women were also smiling, but none of them looked natural; even Cersei’s was forced. You could practically see her wondering if she was displaying the right emotion her eyes flicking constantly as she tried to find the best place to fix them. Gilly’s eyes kept moving to the side, as if there was something more interesting nobody else could see, and Sansa remained stone faced throughout the whole thing. Her arms were folded over her chest, and Jaime could see the waves of fury pouring from her. 

Well. He couldn’t really blame her. 

‘You’re quite lucky, you know,’ Bronn said, his eyes on the screen. 

‘How’s that?’ Jaime asked. He was lucky; luckier than most, anyway. Whatever price that luck came with, however, was something that nobody wanted to hear about. 

‘Well,’ Bronn said, ‘this is a dating show. Those ladies in there should be clawing each other’s eyes out for you. They don’t know it’s all fixed. But none of them really seem to want you; you can’t break any of their hearts.’ 

‘And how is that lucky?’ Jaime said. He ignored the voice in his head that reminded him he’d had the same idea. 

‘None of them will think you a heartless bastard when the whole thing is over. Even if they do find out, a few years from now. They’ll just think they had a lucky escape. I mean you’re literally being thrust into their faces and they can barely keep their eyes on you!’ It was true; the women were fidgeting, some of them playing with their fingers, or picking lint from their skirts. Even Brienne was back to her gazing expression, which looked like she was taking nothing in. The only one still paying attention to the screen was Cersei, and she was only sitting forward so that her breasts were heaving over the top of her dress. 

None of these women wanted him, except the one that mattered. That was the important part. Only one of them mattered. 

Bronn was right about everything except none of them thinking he was a heartless bastard. The memory of Brienne striding away from him at The Bear Pit when she remembered who he was came unbidden into his mind. 

They already knew he was one. 

* 

The camera followed as Sansa, Margaery, Brienne, and Ellaria left the den, heading for the garden. As soon as they stepped into the fresh air the women seemed to relax, their postures loosening a little, their smiles becoming a little brighter. 

‘His prized possession is a sword?’ Sansa said. The camera wasn’t focused on her, but the tone was hard to mistake. 

‘I thought it was pretty cool,’ Brienne said, and Jaime was instantly transfixed by the screen. Did she mean it? Or was she just humouring the cameras? ‘I thought he’d have something a little more materialistic. A signed photo of himself and someone famous, or something that related to the Lannister Business, like an award.’ 

‘Well,’ The Hound said, as on-screen discussion turned to dead parents, ‘she’s got the measure of you.’ Jaime shot him a dirty look. 

‘Yeah, Twitter seems to think so too,’ said Pod. ‘Lots of crying laughter emojis to that comment.’ He met Tyrion and Jaime’s gaze. ‘Please tell you know what an emoji is. You must do – Tyrion, I send them to you all the time when we’re texting about your schedule!’ 

‘Yes, I know what an emoji is,’ Tyrion said. Jaime felt his cheeks glow red and switched his attention back to the show. The one time he’d sent an emoji it had been to Cersei; it was a little red heart, and he’d thought it was cute. 

He still thought they were cute, but Cersei had shut that down quick. She detested the things, saying they reminded her of children’s stickers which were just as irritating. If you couldn’t find the words to reply to a text, then why bother replying at all. 

The small group were still talking about their parents – Jaime had known about Brienne's mother of course, and if pressed he could probably have told you about Margaery’s although he’d never really stopped to think about it. Margaery and Loras were the future of the Tyrell family – it had just always made sense that their Grandmother would be in charge of them. 

Pod let out a snort, then ducked his head when he felt the attention turn to him. ‘Sorry, there was just a really funny – well, it wasn’t really funny but, just mildly amusing Tweet.’ 

‘Do tell,’ Tyrion said. 

‘Uh, someone tweeted that hearing about Jaime’s mother made her like him a little bit more, and she kind of understood him a little better, because growing up with just Tywin must have been tough, and then someone responded to it with a meme. The meme was funnier.’ 

‘What one?’ Tyrion asked. ‘I’ve been trying to understand social media a little better. Show me.’ 

‘Um, it‘s here Sir,’ said Pod, reaching a slightly shaking hand out to Tyrion so the older man could see the photo he was pointing at. It had been easy to forget that Pod was actually Tyrion’s employee, but the formal manner and the way he did as Tyrion asked straight away brought it back. ‘The one with the guy standing in front of the boxes, and it says...’ 

‘Cool motive, still murder,’ Tyrion finished. ‘Hysterical.’ 

‘I saw that,’ Bronn said. ‘I liked it, too, and I’m not the only one.’ 

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Tyrion said. 

Jaime watched the show. Comments online that would be forgotten next month when the show was over didn’t matter. They might give the people reading them a spurt of amusement for a few seconds, but that was all they were; fleeting. 

They were back in the den now, with Cersei, Roslin, Ros, Daenerys and Missandei sitting on the sofa, talking. 

‘Losing a parent at a young age is devastating,’ Daenerys said. ‘I was a teenager when I lost my father and we weren’t even that close, but I still wake with a hole inside me some days, that can’t be filled.’ 

‘I miss my mother every day,’ Roslin said. ‘We were best friends and there are times I wish I could just call her up and talk to her about my day. It’s the little things, like not having anybody to run an outfit past or to scream to when someone else is driving you mad.’ 

‘For me,’ Cersei said, and Jaime was surprised to see her getting involved, ‘it’s even smaller things than that. It’s the memory of her when I smell her perfume and wish she could be here to see her Grandchildren. It’s when my Myrcella juts her chin out; they look so alike, it’s uncanny. And it’s doing the things for my daughter that she used to do for me; brushing hair, or singing the special pain be gone song she made up.’ 

‘You sing a pain be gone song?’ Daenerys asked. 

Cersei paused. 

‘I used to. When my kids were very little. When they had a tummy ache or had come off their bikes. Robert would just laugh and clap them on the back, tell our son to man-up and tell me to deal with our daughter. I’d take them to a quiet place, sit them on my lap and sing to them. Most of the time they’d be giggling by the end of it, and the pain would be if not forgotten then at least at the back of their minds.’ 

‘It made them laugh?’ Missandei asked. 

‘I don’t think the song was supposed to be funny,’ Cersei said, and then a smile lit up her face. It looked awkward, and biting and it was more of a smirk than anything; but still. It was there. ‘But I have a terrible singing voice.’ 

‘Have you ever heard this pain go away song?’ Tyrion asked, turning to Jaime for the first time all day. There was a glint in his eye, and Jaime vowed not to be in the room the next time Cersei and Tyrion met. The teasing would be merciless. 

‘I have not,’ Jaime said. ‘You know I never went to her married house. And once she’d left Robert we only met in hotels. And then once I had my accident, she came to me.’ 

‘So you’ve never lived with this bird?’ The Hound said. ‘Her and her two children?’ Jaime shook his head. ‘My brother had a couple of kids. Or at least the woman he was living with at the time did. I had to move in with them for a month and I almost put a bullet through my head. Kids are the fucking worst.’ 

‘They’re not kids any more,’ Jaime said. ‘They’re teenagers.’ 

‘Aye,’ Bronn said, ‘much worse.’ 

The One was flashing up images of each of the women now. Each of them spoke one line about their prized possession, most of their faces shining with excitement before the show cut to the adverts. 

Jaime went to the bathroom. He wanted to escape the conversation. The truth was he hadn’t really thought about living with Cersei’s children. Him and Cersei hadn't been together in a year when she'd had them as she had decided they needed to take a break, so she could make her marriage work, but he'd still been devastated to learn she was going to have Robert's children. She'd be tied to him forever.  
He’d only met them a handful of times over the years, when him and Cersei could get away with it, at parties they could all attend or during ‘accidental’ meetings when they’d all just happened to end up at the same theme park, because, hey, wouldn’t you know it, Tyrion had just been dying to ride this rollercoaster and it was the only day they had free. 

But in a few weeks, he’d be marrying Cersei. Taking on step-father duties to children who had lost their father. When he stopped and thought about it, he panicked. He wasn’t entirely sure he should be allowed to take care of himself – who in their right mind would let him be (even a tiny bit) responsible for children? 

Cersei reassured him. She kissed his troubles away and told him that he didn’t need to worry about a thing. The kids were hers, and he would barely have anything to do with them. They were away at an elite boarding school for most of the year, because Robert had insisted and Cersei was loathe to pull them out when they had friends and seemed to like it. 

Jaime was terrified at the thought of being a father, but he wasn’t sure he liked Cersei’s version any better. He didn’t want to be the figure in the corner of the room who the twins would refer to as ‘Mum’s husband’ and roll their eyes when talking about him. 

When he came back the show had started again and Roslin was standing in front of a pretty veil. The group of women sitting on chairs around her all had tears in their eyes as they listened to her story. 

‘Her mother left her her wedding veil and it’s one of the only things she has left,’ Pod said. Pod’s eyes were looking a little wet too. He cleared his throat. ‘Twitter is loving what she said about her father – there's not a lot of love for him. Whatever fandom he had in the 80s seems to have died with his constant baby making ways.’ 

‘It works for some people,’ said Bronn. ‘Rod Stewart is still loved today and Roslin’s father isn’t that different from him.’ 

‘Roslin’s father has one Christmas song, not albums of classics. And, from my understanding, fourteen children with women who are getting younger and younger. There were rumours about a 16 year old although nobody could prove anything, and as his press team stressed at the time ‘it’s not illegal,’ Tyrion said. ‘Since then he’s made sure he’s not seen with anybody younger than 18, but he’s still a pervy old man.’ He shuddered, then turned to Jaime. ‘There you go. Another great guest you’ve just invited to spend time with these women. Potentially.’ 

Jaime stared at his brother, framed by the hanging curtains that blocked out the view of the city below them. The overhead bulb was set to ‘dim’ and his brother’s features were shadowy. 

‘He might not come,’ Jaime said. ‘Roslin has 13 siblings. One of them could come.’ 

‘Her father will not pass up the chance to get his face on TV,’ Tyrion said. ‘Trust me.’ 

‘What’s this?’ Bronn asked, waggling a finger between the Lannisters. ‘Something about inviting guests? Nobody’s coming in here. Do you know how long it will take me to disassemble all this?’ he said, gesturing to the screens behind him. ‘Or how long it will take to set it all back up again?’ 

‘Calm down, nobody is coming here,’ said Jaime. Tyrion was on screen now, chatting to Roslin and the women were giggling at the phrase ‘Jaime’s sword.’ 

Well, some of the women were. Cersei as usual was stone faced. Brienne had rolled her eyes, but Jaime had noticed the corner of her lip twitch. 

‘Mind fucking enlightening the rest of us?’ Bronn asked. ‘Or is this a Lannister only party?’ 

Tyrion gestured for Jaime to talk. 

‘It’s not a big deal,’ Jaime said, watching as Melisandre replaced Roslin in the centre of the women. ‘As you know this week is the F&F week. Each day one of you will be spending the whole day with the ten remaining women. I thought it might be nice to do something for the women – being stuck in that house with just each other for company would drive anyone mad. I just wanted to do something nice.’ He swallowed. ‘So I’ve arranged a small gathering for Sunday evening with their friends and family. They’ll have around 6 hours to contact whoever they want, and invite them over to the house tomorrow, so they can all spend time together. You guys will be there too, getting to know them all.’ He kept his eyes on the screen, staring at the ruby necklace that was sending blood coloured sparkles onto the grass. 

He couldn’t concentrate on a word the women were saying. 

‘You want us to spend a night mingling with their families?’ Bronn asked. ‘Like we’re not already giving you enough of our time as it is.’ 

‘And all of you are being paid handsomely for it,’ Jaime snapped. Had they all forgotten that nobody was in this room by choice? If there had been any other way for him and Cersei to be together; but his father wouldn’t allow it. 

Jaime didn’t want to be here. He’d much rather be somewhere else, instead of having his life suspended for six weeks. 

A neon pink sign, small bar, and Irish barman flashed through his mind, and he found himself clenching his good hand into a fist on his thigh. He didn’t want to be there either. He wanted to be with Cersei, and this was the only way to do it. ‘You’ll do as I say for these six weeks, and none of you will complain because if you do, I’ll tell Petyr that a family situation has arisen and that you need to go and deal with it. Any one of you can be replaced in an instant and if you say that you’ll tell someone what we’re doing in this room you’ll be sued. Yes, Bronn even you. You might be the only hacker we know by name, but I’m sure there are plenty out there who can keep their mouth shut for the right price and wouldn’t mind pretending to be my friend for the next few weeks. Now, can we get back to watching the show or do I need to ask for another hotel room so I can finally get some peace?’ 

Bronn held his hands up in surrender and turned back to his monitors. The Hound settled further back onto his armchair, staring at the screen. Pod had found something interesting on his phone. 

Only Tyrion was still staring at him, a grin on his face. 

‘It’ll be a disaster, but it’s what we do best,’ he said. ‘And at the risk of elevating your wrath I would like to point out that I’m not actually being paid to be here. I am here out of the goodness of my heart and because you’re my brother.’ 

‘I’d like to watch the show,’ Jaime said again. ‘What did I miss?’ 

‘Nothing much,’ Tyrion said. The others no longer seemed to be talking. Jaime couldn’t blame them. He rarely lost his temper these days, too afraid of what it could lead to. He hadn’t stabbed Aerys Targaryen just because he’d lost his temper, but it was hard to forget the rage and panic that had flooded through him. ‘Melisandre had a necklace and told everyone she’s kind of royal. I think. I’m not really sure, but there’s some connection to royalty there.’ 

‘And Myranda?’ Jaime asked. The dark-haired girl was on the screen now, staring into the camera. 

‘Her father owns a dog grooming business and that’s what she said is her prized possession,’ Tyrion said. He waited a moment, but the camera passed over onto Ygritte who was bouncing on her feet she was so excited. ‘They didn’t put it in. Me and Sansa had a very interesting conversation about animals and your dislike for them.’ 

‘I don’t dislike animals,’ Jaime said. There was just one he found annoying and that had kind of tainted the entire species as a whole. ‘And I heard about your comments. Cersei asked me to reign you in. Seemed to think you might hurt her chances.’ 

Tyrion shrugged. 

‘I knew they wouldn’t put them in,’ he said. ‘Sansa is gunning very hard to get voted off, and while I suspect Petyr is under pressure from her family to show just how much she doesn’t want you, to portray her open dislike would also be a bad idea.’ 

‘They’re going to have a hard time with the edit if they have to cover every time someone shows their dislike,’ Jaime said. Ygritte was stroking a fur cloak that Jaime had seen in a music video. Ah, so Ygritte was the fangirl, Cersei had mentioned. 

Jaime had heard of Jon Snow. Even played his songs in the car occasionally if they came on the radio, but he wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan. 

‘There are,’ Tyrion responded. ‘I’m actually very interested in how they’re going to edit out someone's comment later.’ He wouldn’t say anything more on the subject, and Jaime shifted on the sofa, getting more comfortable. There was still a while to go after all. 

‘Cersei,’ Varys said, ‘please tell us about your prized possession.’ Jaime’s interest was struggling to get off the ground. He knew he should be watching avidly. But he couldn’t care less about Joffrey, or watching owner and dog get reunited. He was sure it made a great TV moment as they literally ran to each other, but it was underwhelming for a man who had spent a lot of time with them both. 

It was also hard not to feel like Jaime had just slid down to fourth place in Cersei’s affections. 

‘Are you sure he’s a purebred?’ Myranda said onscreen, picking Joffrey up by his neck. The dog growled at her. ‘He looks a little inbred to me.’ 

Jaime hid his smile in his chest. Cersei was convinced Joffrey was the finest thing in the world, but Jaime had his suspicions about where Robert had got the dog from. 

Joffrey was being cooed over by most of the women, except Talisa and Roslin who were walking away, fast, and Brienne who was sitting ramrod in her chair, not paying any attention to the yapping creature below her. 

‘Not a dog person?’ Tyrion asked her. 

‘Not really,’ Brienne said. ‘I like them just fine, I just don’t go mad for them.’ Varys was speaking into the camera, although it was hard to hear him over the yapping in the background. Sansa appeared to have been bitten as she whipped her hand away, a faint wail emitting from her. 

‘Oh,’ Bronn said, sucking his teeth, a disgusting habit that he wouldn’t stop no matter how many times Jaime had asked him to. ‘Brienne’s losing a lot of love because of that.’ 

‘What?’ Jaime said. ‘Because she doesn’t love dogs?’ 

‘Dogs are more universally liked than money these days,’ said Bronn. ‘And don’t panic. They’re not really deserting her. The accounts for her are still running, it’s just people joking around.’ 

‘I’m not panicking,’ Jaime said. ‘I don’t care.’ He hesitated, then said the next words in a rush. ‘Anyway aren’t you supposed to be making sure she gets through? Cersei asked you to, didn’t she.’ 

‘No, I bloody well am not,’ Bronn said. ‘I don’t do anything until I get paid; I’ve been burned too many times before. And I’ve not seen a pound from your darling wife to be, which means no job.’ 

‘Right,’ Jaime said after a pause. 

‘I don’t think you understand how much this entails,’ Bronn said now, pointing a finger at his computer. ‘If you want to do a good job, you can‘t just go in five minutes before voting closes and hack somebody’s vote. Nah, you’ve gotta be slicker than that. Subtly is the art here. I bump Cersei up every ad break, just by a few thousand votes. She’s not winning each week, but she is a front runner. That way, even if someone does look at the voting records, it won’t be immediately suspicious.’ 

‘And that’s why we hired you,’ Tyrion said, raising his glass. 

‘Everyone is talking about Cersei,’ Pod said as he scrolled through his phone during the adverts. ‘They love Joffrey, and hearing her talk about her kids. It was a good idea, reminding everyone about what she went through with Robert; she’s getting a lot of sympathy.’ 

The One was back, and Jaime sat through the women as they set eyes on Yara’s ship for the first time. He’d been on bigger boats; The Lannister Company even owed a few yachts. It was an exquisite piece of craftmanship, and it was interesting to watch Yara Greyjoy's face light up as she took everyone on a tour. 

Cersei had brought Joffrey in a little bag, and Brienne was wearing a skirt and red lipstick. Jaime found his eyes flicking between the two of them. Brienne hadn’t been wearing a skirt the night he’d met her and it had been too dark to see if she had the remains of lipstick around her mouth. But they must have filmed this the day they met; Tyrion had grumbled about having to get out of bed early for a whole 48 hours afterwards. 

Which meant this was the day of her brother’s anniversary. He studied her, against the blush of the sunrise, but decided there was nothing to look for. Brienne was doing a stellar job of pretending it was just another day; she was oohing over the ship, sharing smiles with Ros and just generally seemed to be infused with the same air as all the girl’s; like they’d been caged for the last few weeks and had finally been allowed to escape. 

It was only when the group was back in the garden, Talisa talking about a medical kit – gods, was that really the best she could come up with? - that Jaime noticed the shadows lurking behind Brienne’s eyes. She looked more distant than usual, her eyes fixed on a point away from the group. Her hands were held stiffly in her lap and even her blinking seemed to be slower than usual. Something had happened between seeing Yara’s ship and coming back to the garden which made her remember. 

Talisa sat down, and it was Ros’s turn. She whipped the cloth off a crossbow, Brienne’s excited ‘oohh’ following a split second after everyone else’s. 

‘She just happened to have a medieval weapon lying around the place?’ Jaime asked. 

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Tyrion said. ‘Petyr found it online and had it shipped to the house two weeks ago. You have to admit it’ll probably keep her in for another week.’ 

Jaime inclined his head in agreement. And it did make a good segment; watching as Ros positioned the girl’s with the crossbow, telling them to pick their arms up and to aim straight ahead. 

‘It’ll be good to see if she can actually shoot,’ The Hound said, staring at the TV. ‘She‘ll have to put her money where her mouth is this week.’ 

‘Why?’ Jaime asked. ‘What exactly are you planning on doing with the women?’ None of them would tell him what they had planned for their F&F day. Apparently the secrecy barriers were only there to be broken when it didn‘t concern them. 

‘You’ll find out next week,’ The Hound growled, and Jaime resisted the childish urge to give him the finger. 

Instead, he said in a voice dripping with acid ‘you do realise on Sunday evening you might be in a house with Brienne’s family don’t you? Tell me, are you going to beat them up too?’ 

The Hound leveled an icy stare at Jaime who refused to back down. ‘Don’t be a fucking idiot. I know you saw the episode, and you know as well as I do that I was the one who got the shit kicked out of me. And I can handle myself. I’m not scared of her family even if there are all 6 foot 7 with muscles the size of trucks.’ 

‘Not intending to apologise anytime soon then?’ Jaime muttered under his breath. On screen Margaery was showing everyone a perfume. In the back of his mind, Jaime realised he should be paying attention, if only because it would be the talk of the business world. The Tyrell’s hadn’t released a new fragrance for over forty years. 

But he was too focused on his conversation with The Hound. They hadn’t spoken about his fight with Brienne, and Jaime wasn’t about to let his only chance slip through his fingers. 

‘As if I have a choice,’ The Hound snorted. ‘I had Petyr on the phone the day after the episode aired telling me the next time I was in her presence I better come grovelling. He wants me to bring her flowers.’ His voice was a deep growl like even the idea of flowers was repugnant to him. 

‘I can’t wait to see that on TV,’ Jaime said, grinning. ‘You bringing flowers to Brienne and grovelling.’ 

The Hound snorted. ‘She’ll shove them back in my face, I guarantee it. But Petyr might be right about the apology I owe her. I just wanted to show her what I could do, and it got the best of me. Plus I had to fight dirty if I was going to win. I knew that.’ 

Jaime felt a weight drop into his stomach. The Hound had wanted to impress Brienne. And he never wanted to impress anybody. 

‘You almost sound like you’ve got a crush,’ Tyrion said. Jaime went back to the TV, but there was a fuzzy sound in his head and he couldn’t focus on the details Margaery was imparting to everyone about her perfume. 

‘And you sound drunk,’ The Hound said. 

‘What’s that now? All three of you who want to fuck her?’ Tyrion asked, his bewildered gaze swiveling to the screen where he sought Brienne. She wasn’t hard to pick out - she was at least a head taller than those around her, her hair a yellow halo in the gleaming sun. ‘Is it just because she‘s so different to everyone else? Women usually have a natural curiosity about me, so I guess it makes sense.’ 

‘I don’t want to fuck her,’ Pod mumbled, but his red cheeks told a different story. 

‘You keep telling us that,’ Bronn laughed. 

‘I wouldn’t get her flowers,’ Jaime said to fill the silence. ‘She doesn’t seem like a hearts and flowers type of girl.’ 

‘She hates them,’ Pod said. ‘I overheard her once chatting after one of her classes that I used to go to. Some story about an ex-boyfriend who brought her flowers and how they are forever associated with him and what he did to her.’ 

‘And what did he do to her?’ The Hound asked before Jaime could. 

Pod shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It wasn’t my business, so I left them to it.’ 

‘Well, what would you suggest then?’ The Hound asked. ‘If flowers are off the table.’ 

Jaime thought about Brienne. About her suppressed emotions, but the twinkle in her eyes. About the sadness she carried with her all the time. How she beat The Hound, and drove Jaime’s old bike to a bar at night. 

‘Speaking of Brienne,’ Bronn said and a silence fell over the room as she appeared as the main focus on screen. 

Even though he knew it was coming Jaime couldn’t help breathing the name of his old motorbike when it appeared. ‘Oathkeeper,’ he said, glad he had an excuse to keep his eyes glued to the screen. ‘I never thought I’d see it again.’ 

Bronn gave a low whistle. Jaime had been looking for his bike for the past couple of years, trying to get it back. He’d enlisted Bronn’s help to see if there was any mention of it on the darker parts of the internet. 

Cersei’s face was a contained mask of fury, her eyes fixed away from the bike. A few of the other girl’s were exchanging looks and Tyrion was walking towards the bike, asking Brienne what she knew about Jaime. 

‘Did she really not know Oathkeeper used to be mine?’ Jaime asked. It seemed like too much of a coincidence, but then he remembered her face as she left him at The Bear Pit. If she‘d known it had once belonged to him, she wouldn’t have brought it. 

‘Tell me Brienne, what do you know about my brother?’ Tyrion asked on screen. Jaime leaned forward, grateful for the hush that had fallen over the room. Everyone was waiting for her answer, and distantly Jaime wondered if other viewers were waiting too, desperate to hear her answer. 

‘Jaime Lannister is Tywin’s Lannister’s heir. He’s set to inherit all of the company your father has spent his life building.’ She’d practically stolen the first line of his Wikipedia entry. ‘He was the man of the decade. Everybody loved him and you couldn’t go a day without seeing his face smirking from a magazine or newspaper or his nights out trending online. He used to box; there was a fight between him and the UK champion, which he won, and raised a whole lot of money for charity.’ 

She did know him. Or at least little parts, parts that nobody else would remember. The fight had attracted a lot of attention, but after it was forgotten about. Jaime doubted a single other person in the world would speak about that fight; not even the champion he’d beat. ‘About six years ago he disappeared. People wrote articles saying they were worried about him, but he was still photographed coming out of his house, so he wasn’t actually missing. He just wasn’t making as many public appearances. Everyone thought he had finally gotten a girlfriend.’ Brienne scrunched her face up, like she was trying to search her brain for any little factoid about him she could find. Jaime’s heart beat quicker. 

The next bit was important. 

‘And then,’ Brienne said. She hesitated, and for one brief, glorious second Jaime believed that she was going to smooth over his history. That she would move on quickly, shrug off his past like she obviously wanted to. 

Her gaze slid away from Oathkeeper, landing somewhere Jaime couldn’t see; the blue of her eyes turned to ice in a split second and words spilled from her lips like she couldn’t control them. ‘And then, he killed a man and lost his hand and disappeared after the court case where he got off with community service and a fine.’ 

The story of the man Jaime had murdered and the subsequent legal actions had been talked about so much, it had been turned around several times. It was manslaughter. Self defense. It was a bribe to the court and the judge and that’s why Jaime hadn’t gone to prison. It was celebrity culture gone mad and he deserved to rot in a jail cell. 

The only ones who knew the truth where Jaime, his father, and the people in the courtroom. 

On screen the other women were gasping, a few of them even covering their mouths with their hands. 

In the hotel room, a prickly silence was spreading. Pod, The Hound and Bronn weren't sure what to say, and the Lannisters’ were too busy still watching the show. 

A flush had crept up Brienne’s neck, spreading to her cheeks, but she stood her ground, head held high. Her expression was tight, and a sense of being done radiated from her. She wasn’t here for Jaime; she’d just made that abundantly clear. 

‘A little basic on the facts and with some terrible misinformation, but for most purposes, correct. What I actually meant, was, how much did you know about him before the indecent? For example, did you know he was a keen motorbike enthusiast himself?’ Tyrion asked on screen. 

Cersei was smiling to herself in the background, stroking Joffrey who was clutched to her chest. Jaime was finding it easier to look at her than at the blonde who was still the focus of the camera. He didn’t want to look at the belief on Brienne’s face; he’d already seen enough of it to last a lifetime. It shouldn’t matter what she thought about him, especially as she was almost correct in her assessment. 

But it did bother him. And he didn’t like that it bothered him. 

Brienne and Tyrion were speaking on screen but the words were fuzzy to Jaime. He heard Brienne ask if Tyrion meant that her bike once belonged to Jaime Lannister. He hated the way she said his name, like he was some bad taste in her mouth. 

‘Did she really not know it belonged to me?’ Jaime asked again, although he knew it was pointless. Brienne wasn’t that good of an actress and the pure shock on her face was too pure to be put on. If she had known she wouldn’t have brought it here; Jaime would bet on that. 

‘I don’t believe so,’ Tyrion said. ‘Personally, I found it delightful. And it pissed Cersei off which always makes things sweeter. She hated that bike.’ 

‘She did,’ Jaime agreed. Varys was speaking on screen, asking Brienne for more information about Oathkeeper, and talking about how the women wanted to get their legs around it. The phantom memory of the bike beneath Jaime made his adrenaline spike. He could feel the vibrations under him, hear the engine, sense the wind in his hair. 

Gods, he missed that bike. It had been the worst decision of his life getting rid of it. 

A smile forced its way onto Brienne’s face as she told everyone more details, and it was like re-reading a book to Jaime. Things he’d once known but forgotten about. 

‘You should get her a helmet,’ he told The Hound. ‘Instead of flowers.’ 

‘I’m sure Brienne already has one of those,’ Tyrion said. 

‘Not with her,’ Jaime said. He’d never seen one in their evening at The Bear Pit. She needed to escape so much that her safety was only the second thing on her mind. He didn’t like the idea of her riding without a helmet. Anything could happen. ‘And the pull of Oathkeeper might be too much for her. I know if I had it, not having ridden for a few weeks I’d be desperate for an escape.’ 

The Hound was staring at him, but he didn’t outright scoff and say it was a stupid idea, which he’d done with Pod’s suggestion of cupcakes that looked like flowers. 

Jaime excused himself to the bathroom again before the adverts came on. There were only so many jokes he could hear Bronn make about the women having something that big and powerful between their legs. 

He put the lid down on the toilet, then sat on it, sneaking his phone from his pocket, clicking on the little white bird on his home screen. Normally the PR team for the company ran his twitter account, but he still had access to it. Mainly because he’d never tweeted anything in his life. 

His account had been silent for three weeks now though, although his follower count had climbed way up. Listening to Pod and Bronn talk about tweets was okay, for the most part, but Jaime needed more. He needed to know what they thought about him after Brienne’s outburst. 

What they thought of her. 

There were a lot of mic dropping GIFs. People were applauding Brienne for speaking her mind, for not sugar-coating Jaime's past. There were some wondering why she was still there if she didn’t want him, and wondering why people would vote for someone who quite clearly didn’t want to win. 

There were several tweets about Brienne’s looks, although there were buried deep among the others. One asked why all the women in the house were so excited about Joffrey the dog being in the house when they’d been sharing with Brienne for three weeks and featuring a very unflattering photo of her. Jaime screen-shotted the tweet. He’d send it to his people and have the account shut down. Would getting everyone who had liked it shut down too be going too far, he wondered, before deciding that yes, it would be. 

#TheOne Imagine Jaime and Brienne living together, someone had said. There were a bunch of firework emoji’s next to it. 

Gods, what is this, the dead parents' society or something? #TheOne Asked another. 

He switched to Brienne’s hashtag for a while, making sure there were no other popular mean tweets about her, before quickly switching to Cersei’s. They liked that she was opening up a bit more. Still couldn’t believe someone of her power would even go on a reality show. Loved her gowns so much it made them want to sew up their parent‘s curtains and wear them around the house. 

‘It’s starting again,’ Tyrion bellowed from the other side of the door. ‘Don’t you want to see what the last five have?’ 

Jaime flushed the toilet, then went back out, slipping his phone into his pocket again. He wasn’t getting invested. He wasn’t. He just wanted to know what was going on. That was all. 

‘Is it anything exciting?’ Jaime asked as he settled back onto the sofa. 

Ellaria was standing in front of nothing, spewing something about how she didn’t believe in getting attached, but Jaime couldn’t take his eyes off Brienne. She was wearing a blue wool dress that made her eyes shine. There was also, in stunning HD, the sprinkling of the freckles on her face. She hadn’t covered them up as much today. 

‘Not really,’ Tyrion said. ‘Actually, I lie. Daenerys’s is rather interesting.’ 

Jaime sat through Gilly and her thimble, not caring about who had given it to her. He watched as Sansa talked about a blue handbag as though it was a gift carved from the Gods themselves. He was impressed that she owned a Sapphire – he'd tried to get one from Cersei a few years ago and been rebuffed at every turn, although he was pretty sure his name was on some kind of waiting list. 

‘I looked up the Sapphire brand after we finished filming,’ Tyrion said, munching on a bag of chocolate pretzels. ‘The business is even more profitable than ours. Whoever this ES guy is, he’s rolling in it. Richer than us, ten times over.’ 

‘Didn’t the internet tell you who ES is?’ Pod asked. There was a quiver in his voice. 

‘No,’ Tyrion said. ‘There were some shadowy photos of him, but like Sansa said, since he launched Sapphire he stays out of the press. Let’s his designs do all the talking for him. From what I saw he goes to business meetings and is one of the members of London’s high society, but refuses to have his photo taken. Something changed from what I can make out. Some deep and terrible loss.’ 

Jaime, who loathe as he was to admit it couldn’t seem to stop his brain thinking about Brienne, thought about her deep and terrible loss. He’d be devastated if anything ever happened to Tyrion. He’d gone to seed after losing his hand, and he thought of that as a vital and important part of him. 

To lose Tyrion would be like losing his heart. 

‘Interesting,’ Tyrion said on screen to whatever details Sansa had spilled. ‘And though I think the shade is a trifle darker, the handbag and the stone in my brother’s sword would look excellent together. A Sapphire and literal sapphire together. Wouldn’t that be nice?’ 

Sansa’s face darkened, but she spoke her agreement. 

‘So, is it like your duty just to go there and piss them all off?’ Bronn asked. He was clicking about on his screens, and Jaime yearned to ask him who would be going this week, but held back. He would find out soon. 

The fifteen women stared up at him from the coffee table, the photos Tyrion had brought last week having stayed there all week. They weren’t letting the cleaners in until they left, so nobody had touched them. 

Well, Cersei had drawn glasses and beards and devil horns on a few of them when she’d been over one day last week, but apart from that nobody had moved them. Later on five more would be ripped up, and thrown in the bin. 

‘I’m not sure it’s a duty,’ Tyrion said. ‘But it is a pleasure.’ 

Missandei showed off a pin, promising to get one for Tyrion and Jaime felt himself getting tired. It had been a long and exhausting week, and though he wouldn’t have to do anything this week, he knew this would be an even longer one. Cersei wouldn’t be able to sneak out to see him at all this week, since they were filming every day. And he couldn’t risk it, not with his father around. 

‘Said a woman needed to know how to protect herself; there were many unkind men out there.’ A chilling laugh made the hairs on Jaime’s arms stand up, and he sat up suddenly, a prickling at the back of his brain. That laugh. It was icy fire, that burned you, that wanted you to beg for mercy. It was pain and suffering and confusion and a dark alley and... 

‘Jaime? Jaime, is everything alright?’ Tyrion was standing over him, his eyes peering into Jaime’s face, a hand cupped on his cheek. ‘You were as still as a statue. I haven’t seen you like that for a while.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ Jaime said, shaking his head. The thoughts dislodged from his brain and he was able to focus again. Daenerys was still on screen, showing off three pretty coloured daggers, that looked lethal. ‘Her laugh, it just reminded me of someone.’ He stared in curiosity at the silver haired beauty. He couldn’t say he’d been paying much attention to her in the show, except for that niggling feeling that she reminded him of someone. 

He’d been thinking a lot about Aerys lately, that was all. Her laugh had sounded a little like his, but maybe all chilling laughter sounded the same. There wasn’t a lot of laughter in Jaime’s life. Not full bellied laughter. Cersei smirked and had a brittle sounding titter that was always fake because she rarely found anything funny. Neither did Tywin. Bronn would chuckle dirtily, and The Hound would grunt. Pod grinned. 

And Jaime hadn’t had anything to laugh about for a very long time. 

‘Gods, she’s a scary fucker isn’t she?’ said Bronn. 

‘Oh, she’s harmless,’ Tyrion said. ‘She was ramping up the drama for Petyr, that’s all.’ They watched as Daenerys snapped the case on her daggers, laughing again. A different laugh; this one light and airy. ‘See? I told you.’ 

‘She probably weighs half of what I do,’ Jaime said. ‘Was she really expecting us to fall for her little act?’ Tyrion shrugged, going back to his seat. 

‘It worked on me. She had me scared shitless when she was going on about getting revenge. I honestly believed she was about to plunge one of those daggers into someone’s chest.’ 

‘Now that,’ Bronn said, swiveling in his chair to face them, ‘would be drama.’ 

* 

The fifteen women were lined up in the same positions as last week. All of them in black trousers and a short-sleeved t-shirt. Varys had matched his robes to them today, a dull black with a swirling dark grey pattern. The sky was a dark navy behind them, a crescent moon shining overhead. 

‘Have your votes done enough to save your favourite?’ Varys said. ‘It’s time to find out. Ravens, if you please. Ladies, it’s time to close your eyes.’ The spotlights under the women dimmed, turning them to shadows, as a steam of the shows ‘ravens’ pooled out behind the contestants. Try as he might, Jaime couldn’t make out what colour any of the cloaks were. 

Cersei was through. He knew that. But he was nervous about the others. There were some he didn’t want to go. If the final was between Cersei, Myranda and Ros, he felt like he might have to pull out of the show himself. 

He needed to trust that the public knew what they were doing, but having seen their choices of X Factor and Britain's Got Talent winners over the years, it was a very hard thing to do. 

‘Ladies,’ Varys said on screen. ‘Open your eyes.’ The spotlights went back to full power, and Jaime felt the tight knot in his stomach release. 

Roslin was in black; she walked forward, unshed tears in her eyes. 

Melisandre emerged from the circle, her red hair streaming behind her back over the hood of the black cloak she was in. 

Talisa and Myranda joined hands as they walked out of the circle together, both of them looking entirely unbothered about the whole situation. Myranda even gave a flirty wink to the camera. 

Gilly joined them when she realised she was the only black cloak left in a sea of white. 

Jaime watched Brienne. He’d thought she’d been joking about thinking she’d be going home this Saturday, but the shock on her face couldn’t be faked. 

She didn’t think she was worthy of being saved. 

Or that Jaime was a worthy prize to be won. 

He wasn’t sure which thought bothered him more. 

‘Well that’s all till next week and then we get to make the choices,’ Tyrion said. He was at the table, ripping up photos again. ‘I know you’re mad at us for not telling you anything but it’s too late to change our choices now and you might not have allowed some of them; oh, don’t look at me like that, it’s nothing too bad. Petyr wouldn’t let Bronn take them to a strip club.’ 

‘Fucking moron,’ Bronn muttered. 

‘But it’s also because next week when you’re watching the episode here all on your own since we’ll have to be at the house, it’ll be easier to image you not cursing us out if we accidentally get rid of someone you don’t want gone. I know it doesn’t really matter, in the long run, but I like to think you’d be a little annoyed if Cersei’s only competition were people like Yara and Ygritte.’ 

The four of them stood up, stretching, crumpling snack packets into balls and aiming for the bin in the corner of the room. Jaime hadn’t thought much about next week; he’d be here all alone. He’d have to rip the photos up himself. 

There was a sudden loud crash on the door, and they stared around at each other. Bronn grabbed a blanket from the back of the sofa, throwing it over his computers, as the door crashed open to reveal a furious Tywin Lannister. 

‘What in the Gods name,’ he thundered, ‘is Cersei Baratheon doing in this show?’ 

* 

‘I’ve tried to keep you two apart for years and this is how you repay me?’ Tywin said. He was pacing in front of the sofa, while Jaime and Tyrion sat behind him, two kids who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The other three had escaped to the room next door, and Jaime would bet money that they – or at least Bronn – currently had ears pressed up against the door. 

‘We love each other,’ Jaime said. ‘And we want to be together. All these years later how can you still not understand that?’ 

‘She’s beneath you!’ Tywin spat. ‘A grubby little gold digger whose mother latched onto the first Lannister she saw and made sure to have his child. And then what did she do when he told her he wanted nothing to do with them? Came crying to your mother, that’s what. Joanna was always too sensitive for her own good.’ 

‘Cersei is a Lannister,’ Jaime growled. 

‘Barley,’ Tywin said. ‘I wouldn’t even allow her mother to put it on her birth certificate. Isn’t is enough that I gave that woman everything she could ever want for, and more? I paid for the best schools. I gave her her first job. I gave her Robert! And it’s still not enough. She has to have you too.’ 

‘She loves me,’ Jaime said. ‘She loves me. I love her. We will be together, whether you like it or not. The public like her and if you vote her off people are going to wonder why. Thanks to you she has the good standing in our circle already, and she’s one of the only age appropriate ones left. People will start to talk. And then they’ll find out how we know each other, and probably what a hand you had in her life. Do you really want that all to come out?‘ 

Tywin stared at his son. ‘There’s nothing you can do father, except suck it up and accept it. You made me do this stupid show, and I’m here. Be happy about that. The business is booming so I hear.’ 

‘I’m not happy about this,’ Tywin said. ‘I can’t even look at you right now. I’m staying in a separate room. We’ll speak tomorrow.’ He swept from the room, not even bothering to look back at his sons. 

Jaime rubbed his head. The ‘talk’ would be more of the same. They’d had the Cersei conversation so many times over the years. She wasn’t good enough. They couldn’t be together. Tywin wouldn’t allow it. He had never listened to Jaime, insisting that the only reason Jaime even wanted Cersei was because he knew he couldn’t have her. He refused to listen to Jaime’s claims that he loved her. 

‘It could have been worse,’ Tyrion said. He slid from the couch. ‘And now if you’ll excuse me, I really have to go to bed. I’ve got a very busy week ahead of me. Including a party that our father may now be attending.’ Jaime bade his brother goodnight, and then flopped on the couch. He was ready to go to bed himself, but his blood was pumping around his body and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He knew he wouldn’t fully relax now until Saturday night. Tywin could get rid of Cersei. He‘d hushed up bigger stories in the past. He couldn't even think about his father at the party tomorrow night. He wouldn’t be there; it wasn’t his problem. 

The shrill sound of his phone made him jump, and he pulled it from his pocket, not checking to see who was calling. It would be Cersei wanting an update on the episode. 

‘You looked gorgeous,’ Jaime said as he answered. He’d have to tell her about Tywin. It was a constant source of annoyance to Cersei that she couldn’t wrap his father around her finger, no matter how much simpering and flattery she piled him with. 

‘Thanks very much, but if I wanted that kind of talk there’s an 0800 number written on the wall of the telephone box at the end of the street,’ said a Irish accent in Jaime's ear. 

He sat up straight. 

‘Davos?’ he said. 

‘Aye,’ the man said. ‘I wasn’t going to call you, but she’s been here half an hour now, just staring into a pint of Coke. I don’t know what’s happened to make her like this, but I think she could use a friend. Or at least a friendly ear.’ Jaime heard him pause on the other end. ‘I know you said you were only after her to find out if she would sell you her bike, but you seemed quite chatty with each other. I would do it, only I’ve got a million things to do. We’ve got a band in tomorrow and they’ve only just sent over their requirements. Don’t suppose you’re any good at putting a stage together are you?’ 

‘Afraid not,’ Jaime said. ‘I only have one hand and the prosthetic isn’t much good for anything except slightly gripping things.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ said Davos. ‘So, are you coming or not? I won’t tell her either way just in case she gets the hump and leaves, but it would be nice to know.’ 

‘Oh, I’m coming,’ Jaime said. ‘I’ll be there soon.’ 

Davos didn’t need to know Jaime was already climbing into the back of a taxi.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I know I promised a super long chapter ten, but I've decided to split it - mainly because I'm still writing the next part (seriously, it's a good thing you guys like long chapters because I can't seem to not write them!) Thank you for being so patient with the updating. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!!

Brienne kept her eyes closed even as she sensed a body slide into the chair opposite her. There was a prickling sensation all over her body, and she wished she could convince herself it was because there was a known murderer sitting across from her. 

Her feeble protests to herself lasted all of ten seconds. She didn’t understand; she knew what he’d done. Knew that his family would have paid anything to make the charge drop, or to get it down to self-defence. Knew that even if Jaime Lannister wasn’t Jaime Lannister, with all it’s connotations, that she should get up and leave. She didn’t want to win the contest and marry him. She didn’t want to have him for a friend. 

And yet, she continued to sit there. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop a smile when she heard him start drumming his fingers on the table. He wasn’t very good at silence. 

She let him sit for another few minutes, wondering why he wasn’t starting the conversation, when she sighed and opened her eyes, her curiosity getting the better of her. 

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, staring at him in the dark lights of the bar. An easy grin lit his face as she spoke, and he leaned back in his chair looking like this was exactly where he was supposed to be. Where he wanted to be. 

‘Charming,’ Jaime said. ‘Is that how you greet all the knights who’ve helped you over the years?’ 

‘I told you,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘You’re not a knight.’ 

‘No,’ Jaime said, and for a split second his face fell into self-loathing and hatred. Brienne blinked, but his face was already back to its usual smirk. ‘Is that why you’re being rude to me? Pod and Tyrion had told me a lot about you, and both of them seemed to think you were unfailingly polite. Why do I get this version?’ 

She could bring it up. Throw his nickname at him, and see how he reacted. After all, hadn’t she made it clear how she felt about him? She’d left him standing in the car park outside this bar, putting as much distance as she could between them. 

‘It’s been a challenging week,’ she said instead. ‘And I don’t think it’s about to get any easier.’ She eyed him, wondering. Jaime had told her that he watched the episodes – and the newest one had aired just a few hours earlier. She remembered her comments to Tyrion when he’d asked what she knew about Jaime. She’d been harsh and rude then. 

Was that why he was watching her with a cautious shadow in his eye? He was doing his best to hide it, but she could see him glancing between her and the door. Probably wondering if she was going to get up and leave. 

‘I can’t answer that I’m afraid,’ Jaime said. ‘Nobody will tell me what they’re planning for their F&F day.’ 

‘Poor you,’ Brienne said. ‘It must be terrible not knowing.’ His grin was back, and he relaxed slightly in his chair. ‘You didn’t answer,’ she said. ’Why are you here? Another late-night drive around London? Couldn’t resist the chance to see Oathkeeper once again?’ She’d ridden the bike to the bar, creeping past her housemates, glad that most of them had needed some space to process still being in the contest. It was something she couldn’t understand either. Why was she still here? What made her better for Jaime Lannister than any of the ten women that had been voted off? Because she could handle herself in a fight and owned his old bike? 

‘I’ll never pass up a chance to look at Oathkeeper,’ Jaime said. He shifted forward, till he was leaning on the table, and her body responded; she flung herself backwards, into the leather seat she was on. 

Jaime pretended not to notice, and Brienne sent a prayer of thanks for the darkness of the bar; it would conceal her blush. ‘Speaking of which,’ he said. ‘How open are you to an offer for the bike? I’ll double what you paid.’ 

Brienne looked at him. 

‘No,’ she said. 

‘Triple?’ he asked. ‘Name your price and I’ll have it transferred to your account by morning.’ 

‘No,’ she said simply, picking up her Coke to sip from. ‘Oathkeeper is my bike, and I’m quite happy with it, thank you. It’s not for sale.’ 

‘Everything is for sale,’ Jaime said. ‘Coming from my family you learn that pretty early on.’ 

She felt herself bristling, wanting to yell at him for his views that people could be so easily brought. Some could; some would be, if the price was right, although they might not feel good about it; and sometimes money just wasn’t enough. 

‘So far nobody has proved me wrong,’ Jaime said. 

‘I’m honoured to be the first,’ she said. ‘Oathkeeper isn’t for sale. If you wanted to own it, you should have kept it. Finders keepers.’ She cut off his next sentence. ‘Is that why you’re here? To make me an offer for Oathkeeper? Couldn’t you have just gone through Tyrion, or Pod? Surely it’s in his job description?’ 

‘In who’s job description?’ Jaime asked, confused. ‘Oh, Pod. Yes. He does make offers on my behalf. But this is personal, and what can I say?’ He spread his arms out to encompass the bar. ‘I just love this place. It’s a comfort.’ There was a loud crashing sound from the other side of the bar where Davos had been attempting to put up a stage for the past hour, and a loudly exclaimed ‘shit’ from the barman. 

An idea occurred to Brienne and she asked it before she lost her nerve. 

‘Did you know I was here?’ she asked. ‘Is that why you’re here?’ 

Silence spread between them. Brienne wasn’t sure what answer she was hoping for. 

‘Would that be so bad?’ Jaime asked. His eyes met hers, green pools swirling with hidden emotion Brienne didn’t even want to try and read. ‘Despite how we left things last time, I enjoyed talking to you. We’re both in this competition; we play slightly different parts, that’s true, but I could use someone to talk to who isn’t my brother. Someone who’s easy to talk to.’ 

She should leave. Jaime was danger; she knew that. There were practically warning signs over his head, big red circles proclaiming ‘stop’ and ‘danger’. He was quicksand, and she could feel herself already sinking. He was the prickly feeling of someone watching you from behind, of looking at you when you didn’t want to be looked at. 

This could all be a game, another way for her to be laughed at. This could be Petyr, finding a way to get her kicked off the show. If anyone found out they were meeting, that was surely grounds to remove her. 

Jaime Lannister was a bad idea, she already knew it. 

And yet, when he asked if she wanted another drink, she nodded and watched as he went to the bar, ignoring the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, and how good he looked leaning up against the polished wood. 

It was stupid to fall for someone so good looking, someone so far out of her league (look at Renly). It was stupid to fall for someone who would be getting married in two weeks times (she might have been saved twice now, but the F&F week was coming; she’d be pathetic to believe she would survive that.) It was downright stupid to fall for someone who had killed a man (but why did he look so guarded whenever it came up? And why were there so many rumours about what had actually happened? There hadn’t been an injunction to stop the media reports, so what had been hushed up in that courtroom? Why did nobody know the full story?) 

It was stupid to fall for anyone, Brienne had learned. There was never a happy ending, not for someone like her. Men would lie to you, and take what they wanted, then leave you angry and bitter and wishing you’d never met them. 

Jaime Lannister was a typical man. He was an idiot. And he was definitely going to be trouble. 

Still, as Brienne sipped the last of her drink and tried to make out that she wasn’t watching Jaime chat to Davos, she felt the very first stirring of traitorous butterflies, unfurling their wings in her stomach. 

* 

‘We don’t film on Sundays,’ Ygritte said, suspicion lacing her words. ‘Maybe a little segment for the website about how we feel now more contestants have gone but I was told Sunday would be a peaceful day.’ 

The ten remaining women had been summoned to the den. Sam had been sent to tell them, and there was a definite droop in his shoulders today. He barely looked up from his clipboard as he ushered them to the den, and there was no boyish smile for anybody today. 

Brienne wanted to know what had happened with him and Gilly after the show, but nobody had any idea. Once again the eliminated contestants had been whisked away after just five minutes of goodbyes, into their waiting taxi‘s to take them back to their homes. 

It was when the garden was empty, the tiny crescent of moon shining down on abandoned cameras and discarded cloaks that Brienne had made up her mind to go back to The Bear Pit. Now she’d found it, her tiny little room provided no comfort at all. She missed the bar, and knowing that she could escape to it made her miss it that much more. There wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t go; she shouldn’t, but that was a different matter all together. 

She hadn’t gone expecting to see Jaime. After she’d left him last time, she hadn’t even really wanted to see him, although she’d been having a battle in her own mind all week. The battle had now turned into a full out war. 

Her and Jaime had finally left The Bear Pit at 3am. They’d spent the whole night talking about their lives. She’d told him about spending time on her dad’s island. He’d told her about growing up under Tywin’s thumb, switching to a funny story, usually involving Tyrion when things were in danger of getting too dark. They hadn’t spoken about the show, even though she wanted to ask him if he was sad about the five that had been sent home. Roslin was so sweet, Melisandre powerful, and Talisa pretty. 

But she stopped herself. If there had been any inch of disappointment on his face that one of them had gone home, her worst fears would have been confirmed and this friendship they seemed to be building would be over before it had even begun. 

They’d helped Davos with the stage – well, she’d helped, doing all the heavy lifting after Davos had pulled a muscle in his back, while Jaime watched from the side calling out what he thought was advice, although she’d bet Oathkeeper he’d never done a proper day’s work in his life. Davos had tried to persuade them to come back and listen to the band the next evening (they were called The Wildings and performed heavy rock covers). She’d declined, knowing that she’d need her strength for whatever Monday had to offer. 

The only F&F day she was looking forward to was Pod’s. 

‘Well, there’s been a change of plan,’ Petyr said. He was standing in front of the TV, staring at them all. Even though there was room for them all on the sofa now, Brienne, Margaery and Ygritte had chosen to stand. Sansa had flopped down at the end, legs and arms crossed. She was wearing another borrowed outfit today; a sweeping black dress from Cersei. 

‘Mr Lannister came up with a fantastic idea and today is the only day we can do it,’ Petyr said. ‘So take your positions and listen up. You never know, you might even like what he has to say.’ A few of the women huffed, and Brienne knew that a week ago she would have done it too. 

Jaime hadn’t mentioned anything about this idea to her. 

The TV was cued up, all of them staring at the blackness, except Sansa who had her head on the back of the sofa and her eyes half shut like she was just too tired to pay attention. Petyr was watching her, his mouth a thin line, but Sansa’s mother was obviously coming down hard on him, for he didn’t say a word. 

Jaime and Varys were on screen now, explaining F&F week to everyone who hadn’t watched the American version of the show, until Varys leaned forward an excited look in his eye. 

‘But,’ Varys said, ‘You’ve also chosen to do something a little different, haven’t you? It won’t be only your F&F we’ll get to know more about this week.’ 

‘No,’ Cersei said, from the middle of the sofa. She lent forward, Joffrey escaping from her grasp and jumping on Sansa’s lap. Sansa pushed him to the floor and then used her hands as a barrier to stop him jumping back up, still looking like she was watching the most boring film in the world. ‘He can’t mean...’ 

‘No,’ Jaime said, and all the women leaned forward too, caught up in the excitement from Cersei. ‘This week ladies, I ask you to invite your friends and family to the house. For one night only. Sunday evening, they’ll be a party for your loved ones; they can mingle and meet each other. I understand that being in these houses and away from those you love most is difficult.’ 

‘And there you have it ladies,’ said Varys appearing from the doorway. Everybody whipped around, those on the sofa either standing, or just kneeling to get a better view. ‘The party will be held at 7pm tonight. You each get one phone call to whoever you want to invite to let them know what’s happening. We’ll go and collect them for you, of course, and tonight you’ll be reunited.’ He beamed around at them all. 

‘How many people can we invite?’ Margaery asked. ‘Say if we had a larger family and we knew they would all want to come?’ 

‘As many as you can reach with one phone call,’ Varys said. ‘This is your night ladies. We want you to have fun, to enjoy it. We won’t make you pick between your loved ones.’ 

There were another million questions, everyone wanting to know more rules, and how long would their phone calls be, and when were the make-up and stylist team arriving? 

Brienne waited until the women were in a suitable but hushed sense of excitement to ask hers. She was glad for them – the opportunity to see their families was something they hadn’t even bothered to wish for. Even Sansa had perked up. 

‘Varys,’ Brienne called out, hating that she could suddenly feel every camera lens in the room focus on her. ‘What happens if the only person we could invite isn’t in the country? My father is currently on business and I doubt even you’d be able to fly him in before 7pm.’ There were a few hushed giggles. 

‘Isn’t there anyone else?’ Varys asked. ‘A sibling? A friend?’ Brienne shrugged. 

‘My older brother died, years ago. As did my mother. And, to be perfectly honest, all my friends are in this room.’ She looked over her shoulder at Sansa who gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Or are related to people in this room, so will be coming anyway.’ She could feel the pitying looks rolling in. ‘I don’t have a problem not seeing my father – I wasn’t expecting to. I’d still like the phone call, if that’s allowed?’ Varys eyes sort out Petyr at the back, and after a second, Varys nodded. 

‘Of course. We wouldn’t totally want you to miss out!’ Varys said. 

‘Don’t worry, Brienne,’ Sansa said. ‘When I call them, I can’t imagine any of my family won’t want to come. You know us; we like to travel in a pack. And there’s plenty of us to go round. And like you said, we’re practically your family anyhow.’ 

‘Can we call them now?’ Cersei asked. She was off the sofa, a vibrating energy running through her. ‘Now I know I’m allowed to speak to my darling’s I simply can’t wait a moment longer.’ 

Varys gestured to the doors, where Sam was entering, a number of mobile phones in his hands. ‘Here you go ladies. Take one phone, one cameraman and find a quiet place. Then come and find me or Petyr once you’re done talking and let us know where we should pick them up from and how many will be coming! I hope you’re all as excited as we are!’ 

Brienne waited for the other nine women to rush Sam, then approached the now ruffled man cautiously. She took the last remaining phone from his hands, gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, then walked out into the garden. She’d wait for everyone else to make their calls before she grabbed a cameraman to film her. 

And she definitely wouldn’t wonder why Jaime hadn’t told her about this last night. 

* 

‘Selwyn Tarth,’ barked a deep voice at the other end of the line. Brienne felt the smile on her lips, and tried to blink away the tears in her eyes. It was so stupid. She’d not spoken to her father for months at a time before, apart from the occasional text. It had only been a few weeks. 

But she’d always known that he’d be at the end of the phone if she needed him to answer. 

‘You answered an unknown number,’ she said, turning her face slightly away from the camera facing her, and ignoring Ramsay’s growl that she better come back. Everybody knew what her face looked like – they could give her a few seconds of privacy. ‘What happened to your assistant?’ 

‘Brienne!’ Boomed her father, and Brienne’s grin grew. She had to have the phone on speaker so the cameras could pick up every word, but she wasn’t sure they needed it. Her father was known for his loud voice. It was a constant source of amusement, trying to get him to use his ‘indoor voice.’ Selwyn Tarth didn’t believe in keeping his voice down for anything. Not when he was talking about how bad the food was at a restaurant, or when remarking on an odd fashion choice from a stranger walking past. ‘You’re the only one who knows this number. I hoped it was you!’ He suddenly turned serious. ‘You haven’t been let go from the show, have you? I make my assistant watch it every Saturday and he says you’re doing very well. He‘s actually quite impressed. Been asking about you a bit too much, to be honest. Listen, if you don’t win the show, I think he’d be a great match -,’ 

‘Dad's that’s enough,’ Brienne said. She couldn’t look at Ramsay’s face, but could feel the blush creeping up hers. ‘They’re filming this.’ 

‘Oh,’ her father said. ‘Is everything alright?’ 

‘Of course it is,’ she said. Her mind flashed to a neon pink sign and an easy smile, green eyes staring at her from across the table. 

But that was alright. That was nothing. Just something fun to get through the weeks here. Jaime interested her in a way she didn’t quite want to understand, so she was pushing her feelings about his past down. He‘d be married to one of her friends in two weeks. 

Or to you, whispered a voice in her head. 

She shut that down pretty quickly. 

‘They’ve decided to throw a party for the contestants' friends and family,’ she said, hurrying on with the phone call. They only had ten minutes to explain everything, and the other women had already come back complaining that it wasn’t long enough. 

‘Oh,’ Selwyn said. ‘You know I’d be there if I could, but I’m so swamped this week, I don’t think I can fit it in,' he said. 'I'm not back in the UK till Wednesday.' 

‘No, I know,’ Brienne said, looking away from the camera for a different reason now. Her dad’s business kept him busy. He wouldn’t be where he was today if he hadn’t dedicated hours and hours to it. And he would be there if she really needed him. She knew that. ‘It’s tonight anyway. I knew you'd never be able to make it back.’ 

‘I'm sorry,’ he said. ‘I’d love to tell you about what I'm up to, but cameras have a habit of telling the world everything they see.’ 

‘They do,’ she said. ‘Everyone was given a phone call and they said I could call you anyway.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. With the camera right there she couldn’t really talk to her father. 

‘I’m glad you called,’ he said and he sounded like he meant it. ‘Have you thought any more about what we discussed before the show started?’ 

‘I thought we were going to announce it after I left?’ Brienne said, fully turning her back to the camera and taking the phone off speaker. She ignored Ramsay’s hissing behind her. If he wanted to get this, he’d have to wrestle her, and she doubted he would win that fight, scrawny little thing that he was. Ramsay was currently standing on a step ladder, stuck into the grass so that he could aim the camera at her face. 

‘Well that was the plan, but you’re doing so well, that I just thought if you wanted to tell one of your friends on camera...it would make a great scene.’ 

‘I’m sure it would,’ she said. Her father loved her, she knew that. But after his losses, his business had become his baby, and he needed to make sure it was well cared for. Which meant every conversation always came back to it. 

Sometimes she wondered what would happen if she told her father she didn’t want to take over from him. 

She’d never do it of course; she loved the business almost as much as her dad did. She’d grown up watching it go from strength to strength, learning about it every single step of the way. And she was good at it. She wouldn’t want to do anything else, even if she didn’t think that making her father find someone else to continue to run his company would probably cause him a heart attack. 

‘Just think about it, okay?’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go, but I’ll speak to you when you get voted off – or when you win!’ The phone went dead on his booming laughter, and she dragged it away from her ear. 

‘That was only six minutes,’ Ramsay said. 

‘Really?’ she said, handing the phone off to him. She was getting bad thoughts by holding the thing. There was a whole bunch of stuff about her online. She could find out if people actually liked her, or this was some big joke. 

If she was some big joke. ‘For my father, that’s quite good.’ Selwyn, once he knew that Brienne had just called for a catch-up, and if there was nothing important to impart, usually cut off around the three-minute mark. 

Brienne wondered if Davos had a phone. She could ask to borrow it. Say she just needed to check something quickly – the weather for the next day. Or pretend she needed to call her own as she’d lost it in the bottom of her bag. 

She probably wouldn’t even need to come up with an excuse. Davos was still eyeing her a little when she came in, and she noticed the other day when she’d entered, that he’d quickly stashed the Vodka bottle under the bar when he’d seen her walk through the door. 

It was sweet that he cared, even if it was a little misguided. 

‘Everyone else has at least one person turning up,’ Ramsay said as he turned the camera off. ‘Poor Brienne, all on her own.’ 

‘Right,’ Brienne said. She stood for a second, then turned and walked away. 

It was hard to take an insult from someone standing on a ladder so they could be your height. 

* 

‘Are you sure,’ Sansa said, ‘that you don’t want me to dress you?’ 

Brienne pulled one of Margaery’s pillows over her face and growled into it. ‘Alright,’ Sansa said. ‘I was just checking.’ 

‘You’ve just checked seven times in the past hour,’ Brienne said. She sat up on the bed she was lying on, dislodging a whole pile of dresses that slithered to the floor. ‘And you know as well as I do that if your mother sees whatever conception you’d put me in, she’d have a few things to say.’ 

‘I can handle my mother,’ Sansa scoffed. ‘I’m an adult who doesn’t even live at home. She can’t boss me around anymore.’ 

‘I haven’t lived with my Grandmother since I was 18 and she’d murder me if I said anything like that,’ Margaery said. She pulled a yellow silk dress from the pile on the bed, spilling even more onto the floor, and held it up against her body, before scrunching her nose up and throwing it back onto the floor. 

‘Your Grandmother is a scary woman,’ Sansa said. 

‘So is your mother,’ Brienne added. She’d sat in on her fair share of Stark arguments over the years. Lots about Sansa being a ‘silly little girl’ or her brother Bran climbing on things he shouldn’t. Or her eldest brother Robb, the one time he ran away to be with a girl before coming home 24 hours later because it got too cold. Or her younger sister Arya, but Brienne lost count of those arguments; Arya was always getting into trouble for something. 

Brienne was really looking forward to seeing all of them tonight. She hadn’t seen the younger Starks for a few years, since she’d been on the island, and the elder Starks only for a few minutes at one party or another. 

‘Don‘t let her hear you say that,’ Sansa said. ‘What do you think of this? Gilly left it for me, but it’s so...drab.’ She whispered the last word like she was afraid Gilly who was back at home, might hear her and be offended. Sansa held the long black skirt up, frowning at it. ‘Maybe if I pair it with a nice top? Brienne, don’t you have a black blouse?’ 

‘I do,’ Brienne said, thinking of the item hanging in her wardrobe. ‘But it’ll be big on you.’ 

‘I can pin it,’ Sansa said. She tugged the skirt on over her jeans, smoothing down the sides. ‘Ellaria’s got some safety pins I can use.’ She threw herself down onto the bed, next to Brienne, on top of another pile of clothes. 

Brienne liked fashion. She did. But she brought smart clothes that lasted. She rarely brought anything just because she thought it was pretty. 

The amount of clothes Margaery had was mind blowing to Brienne. And this was only a selection of her clothes. She had already spoken about her wardrobe back at home, and how she had the perfect thing back there. She’d debated texting her Grandmother to ask her to sneak her in a dress, but had thought that would be going too far. 

‘What do we think?’ Margaery said, twirling around in a dark blue dress with a silver pattern on it. 

‘It‘s a little formal,’ Sansa said, propping herself up on one elbow. 

‘There is no such thing as too formal,’ Margaery said. ‘I like it, but will my Grandmother? That’s the most important thing.’ 

‘It’s good,’ Brienne said. ‘And, it matches your perfume. The ocean and the regal. If you’re not bothered about being too formal, you could always pair it with that little tiara headband thing you have.’ 

‘Ohh, yes!’ Sansa squealed, clapping her hands. ‘You’ll look like a princess. Cute!’ She hugged Brienne in her excitement, then got off the bed to help Margaery pull the dress on, before starting to search the room for the silver headband Brienne had mentioned. 

‘That’s us sorted,’ Margaery said, turning to Brienne. ‘What about you? Everyone’s arriving in a few hours. You don’t want to miss the start, do you? Petyr has promised they’ll be finger food and drinks served for everyone, although we all told him he is not allowed to air any footage of us eating.’ 

Brienne shrugged. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve got a while longer than you guys anyway. Mr Baelish said he’s going to make sure to film you all in the den greeting your families before you all go into the garden, and I’m not allowed to come down and mingle until everyone’s here.’ They didn’t want her already waiting in the garden to greet their guests, like some kind of host. That was Varys's job, and Brienne presence could take away from that. 

‘You could wear ‘The Dress!’ Sansa gasped, from where she was on the floor, her head under the bed, still looking for the headband. ‘Nobody would talk about your father not coming then – everyone would be too busy talking about that.’ 

‘I’m not wearing The Dress for this,’ Brienne said. She couldn’t explain why she wouldn’t - after all, she had considered it earlier. She’d stared at the material, hanging in her wardrobe, the waves falling to the floor, and pictured walking out into the garden, having every eye upon her. 

But something told her no, that this wasn’t the moment. She would have to wait, and just hope the time would present itself. 

A loud knock on the door, made the three of them look around, but it was just Yara and Ygritte with surprisingly Daenerys and Missandei trailing after them, wondering if they could all join the party too. 

‘Come on then,’ Ygritte said, as she stepped neatly over the mess on the floor, and settled with her back against the bed. ‘Margaery, tell us what the latest news from outside is.’ She looked at Brienne. ‘My phone died this morning, and these girl’s all have iphones. Don’t suppose you have an android charger do you?’ 

‘I don’t have a phone,’ Brienne said. ‘I actually thought we were meant to stick to the rules.’ Yara scoffed. 

‘The day I take an instruction from a man is the day I might as well climb into my coffin,’ she said. Brienne fiddled with the blanket on the bed, suddenly embarrassed. She’d been the only one to take the rules seriously. Nobody else was worried about what would happen if they got caught with their phone, or fell in love with somebody else on the show. 

Rules were supposed to be followed. Even in school, Brienne had rarely broken any. She didn’t bunk off lessons, she didn’t sneak a cheeky cigarette behind the science block even if everyone was telling her too. She did the homework, and she didn’t giggle and talk and get sent out of classes. She just wasn’t a rule breaker. 

Then she thought about a neon pink sign, and a dark bar, a crop of blond hair and green eyes staring at her from across the table, and a flush rose in her cheeks for an entirely different reason. 

‘It’s okay,’ Missandei whispered to her. ‘I don’t have a phone either.’ They shared a smile, and Brienne moved further up the bed, so Missandei could sit down. 

They spent the next hour talking about news from outside the house. Shae had already done an interview bad mouthing everybody who worked on the show. The eliminated five from yesterday would be on a breakfast TV show tomorrow to talk about their time in the competition. The dress Cersei had worn from the latest episode had sold out. And Margaery’s perfume was already breaking records for ‘pre-orders.’ 

‘Grandmother said she’s never seen anything like,’ Margaery said as she beamed around the room. ‘Oh, and I’ve had to bribe the cameraman who filmed me during the phone call, because when Grandmother answered the phone, she asked why I was calling during the day as this was when we usually texted then asked if I’d done something silly and been kicked off.’ 

Daenerys showed them all the white coat she was planning on wearing to the party. The sun from the previous week had given way to a grey sky, and the smell of rain was in the air. Cameramen had been eyeing the sky all day, speaking into phones and headsets. Brienne knew they were all praying the rain held off till night time when the cameras had finished rolling. 

‘It’ll be terrible if it does rain,’ Daenerys said, stroking the arms of her coat, ‘because I’ll look like a drowned furry rat but the man I invited tonight gave it to me, and he’ll be so overjoyed to see me in it.’ 

‘Here’s a question,’ Yara said. She was leaning against the bed too, staring up at the ceiling as everyone paid attention to her. ‘Who are we hoping actually wins this? I’m hoping to go home this week, Sansa has never wanted to be here, Ygritte is still firmly in love with Jon Snow.’ She looked at Ygritte who nodded. ‘Margaery and Brienne don’t want Jaime, and Ellaria is still holding out hope that this mysterious lover we’ve all heard so much about is going to come storming in here and carry her away or something equally ridiculous. Ros is Petyr’s spy, so she only wants Jaime in so much as he’s Jaime Lannister and she can work having been married to him for the rest of her days, even if they do get divorced after a week. So, what about you two?’ Yara turned to Daenerys and Missandei. ‘Because if you don’t want him, then I have to root for Cersei, and that makes me want to throw up.’ 

‘I,’ Missandei said, then stopped. ‘I don’t want him.’ She spoke the next words in a rush. ‘The truth is, I’m here because my parents wanted me to come. But I love a man from back home, one of the men from the camp. My parents would be so angry if they knew, that we had to hide being together. And I couldn’t tell my parents no, not when they’d been approached by Petyr Baelish directly.’ Daenerys laid a hand over Missandei’s on the bed covers. ‘He’s coming tonight. My parents sent him over, because they were too busy to come themselves. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I left him, and I thought it meant that I didn’t love him enough, because I wasn’t strong enough to fight for him, but I’ve missed him every moment I’ve been here.’ 

She looked up to find everyone staring at her, pitying smiles on their faces. There wasn’t much they could say; only empty words of comfort. ‘I don’t want Jaime,’ Missandei said. 

‘And you?’ Yara asked, shifting to Daenerys. ‘Do you want to become Mrs Lannister?’ 

Brienne felt her interest spike. Daenerys was still an unknown. She spent most of her time with Missandei, the two of them disappearing to one of their bedrooms each evening. She seemed to watch everyone with a unnerving interest but then smiled brightly at you if you made eye contact. 

And earlier, when Ygritte had been speaking about her phone, Brienne had seen the way Daenerys’s hand had flown to one of her pockets, as if checking hers was still there. 

‘Oh, I want Jaime alright,’ Daenerys said. ‘I can’t tell you how much I want him.’ 

* 

Brienne could hear the excited chatter from where she stood, just inside the back doors to the house. Laughter sounded across the garden, and Joffrey was barking like mad, a few childish screams echoing over the noise. 

Everybody was out there. The women had sat in the living room from 6pm, exchanging smiles and telling stories about the family members that would be coming. Brienne was spared; everyone felt so sorry for her having nobody that none of them had pushed the point of why her father couldn’t come; what was more important than his only daughter? They’d been called out one by one, and Brienne had only felt a little pang as each full wattage grin passed her by. She was fine. She would always be fine. Whatever happened. 

Brienne stepped out into the garden, smoothing her dress down. She hadn’t gone for ‘The Dress’ but a different one; this was sleek, and black, with a cinched in waist and silver belt buckle. She’d offered it to Sansa (everyone had offered all their black clothes to Sansa,) but the dress had hung a little long. While quick fixes were okay, hemming an entire dress was a little too much like hard work for Sansa’s ‘no effort’ approach and the dress had remained in Brienne’s wardrobe. 

The garden was a mess of people. In the weeks since they’d been here, it had become second nature to block out the cameramen, and the on-call hair and make-up team, the producers and Sam Tarly who was always around sulking in a corner. The place had felt small with just the ten remaining women. 

Seeing this many people was a shock to Brienne. She’d never been one for large gatherings anyway, but having been away from crowds for such a long time made everyone seem daunting. 

She stared around as she made her way further into the garden, lifting a glass of water from a waiter’s tray just so she’d have something to do with her hands, trying to spot anyone she knew. The Starks were here somewhere, and though they travelled as a pack, they never stayed that way for long; they’d always have to look for the members at the end of the night, rounding them up from wherever they’d wandered to. 

Brienne would even take the Tyrell’s right now, if only she could see them. She could see Daenerys in her white coat, talking to an older gentleman with blond hair and pale blue eyes, both of them laughing at a joke. Cersei was sitting on the grass, seemingly not caring about the stains it would leave on her light pink coloured dress as she gazed upon the faces of her dark-haired twins, her hands clutching theirs. 

Ros waved at Brienne as she passed, then turned back to the crowd of women surrounding her and clicking her fingers at a passing waiter to bring them all more champagne. 

‘Brienne, I need your help.’ There was a tight grip on her arm, and Brienne turned, relief washing over her as she found Sansa clinging to her, eyes wide. 

‘What’s going on?’ Brienne asked. 

‘He’s here,’ Sansa hissed in her ear, steering her back towards the house. ‘You remember that guy I told you about once? I went to a club, after that stupid relationship and went home with some guy...’ 

‘And I was horrified because that’s how women get murdered,’ Brienne said, nodding. ‘He was the best sex of your life, wasn’t he?’ 

‘Yeah!’ Sansa said. She started walking faster as they passed Ramsay with his camera, before looking over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed. ‘Which, I said at the time was weird because he looked so scruffy. Like he actually hadn’t left the house for a few years?’ 

Brienne nodded again. ‘Well, he’s here! He’s called Theon and he’s Yara’s brother!’ 

‘The best sex of your life, was with Theon Greyjoy?’ Brienne said, just checking to make sure she had her facts right. Sansa nodded. Her grip was still so tight Brienne knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow. Not much was known about the elusive Greyjoy. He was the eldest, but he never went to parties, and seemed to stay out of the limelight as much as possible. There was no big party for his 18th, as far as Brienne was aware; no ship for him. ‘And you didn’t know?’ 

‘Of course, I didn’t, did you really think I’d go home with a Greyjoy? I mean Yara’s alright, but before this show I would have avoided her too, to be honest. You’ve heard what their father is like. What do I do?’ Sansa asked, her eyes pleading. ‘He gave me a fake name that night, and now I know why. But what if he just wanted to bed a Stark? Or what if he doesn’t remember? The only stories I’ve heard about Theon Greyjoy are about the number of girl‘s he’s slept with; oh, gods, and I’m one of them!’ 

‘I’m not sure if you’re talking to the right person,’ Brienne murmured. She was trying to seek out Yara among the crowd, to see if she was with her brother. She’d always been fascinated about the subject of Sansa’s one-night stand. ‘I have one ex, and when I ran into him after we split, I punched him in the face, he tried to press charges and my father had to pay him off.’ She hurried on, noticing Sansa’s stricken face. ‘I’m sure that won’t happen. And I’m sure he didn’t sleep with you just because you’re a Stark. I know you’ve had this issue before, but if that was the case the story would have come out by now. And, anyway, just because their father is a dick, doesn’t mean his children are; Yara’s great.’ 

‘That’s true,’ Sansa said, ‘but it might skip a child. I mean look at Tyrion and Jaime. Tyrion’s alright, and he had Tywin raising him. Jaime takes after his father.’ 

‘Jaime’s not so bad,’ said Brienne, without thinking. She was still trying to find someone she knew. 

The silence between the red head and Brienne grew, and her words filtered slowly back to her brain. ‘I mean,’ she said hastily, ‘he doesn’t seem as bad as I thought he would. It’s probably just good editing. I know he still murdered someone.’ The thought, as it usually did now days, caught her short. It was so hard to put that fact together with the teasing smirk and sparkling green eyes of the man she met at The Bear Pit. 

She was saved from having to explain herself more, by Yara coming up behind them. 

‘Hey, you two want to come and meet my family members? Please?’ 

‘What’s up?’ Brienne asked. Yara didn’t do pleading. 

‘My dad slipped off one of the bridges at one of our water parks and broke his legs.’ She shook her head, but didn’t seem too concerned. ‘He’s okay, but coming here was out of the question. So instead of just my brother coming, one of my uncles also forced his way into the party.’ 

‘Yara,’ said a dark-haired man as he approached, ‘please introduce me to your friends.’ He was shorter than both Brienne and Sansa, had tanned skin and a closely shaved head. Silver rings glittered on his fingers, and he wore a long black leather coat that flapped behind him. 

He looked Brienne up and down, seemed to decide she wasn’t worth even acknowledging and turned his attention to Sansa. ‘Well, aren’t you pretty.’ 

‘Uncle Euron,’ Yara said, her teeth gritted, ‘these are my friends, Brienne Tarth, and Sansa Stark.’ 

‘A Stark, eh?’ he said. ‘You don’t hear much about your lot.’ 

‘Maybe you don’t,’ Sansa shot back. ‘Did you say your brother came too?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Yara said, rolling her eyes. ‘He’s over chatting to your brother, Robb, is it? They seemed to hit it off and he told me he’d rather spend the rest of the time having a laugh than trying to suck up to people he doesn’t know.’ 

‘Oh, Gods,’ Sansa said, and with that she was off, tearing across the garden, off to who knew where. 

‘What’s up with her?’ Yara asked. 

‘I’m sure you’ll find out later,’ Brienne said. With nobody else to distract him, Euron was now staring at her. 

At least until a shadow fell across their group, another three people approaching them. 

‘Excuse me, you’re blocking the entrance to the house,’ Cersei said. ‘And Tommen and Myrcella need to use the toilet.’ 

‘Gods, Mother, you don’t need to tell everyone,’ said the girl Brienne took to be Myrcella. She pulled herself from her mother’s grip. ‘It’s just inside, yeah?’ Brienne nodded, then stepped aside letting the dark-haired twins pass by. They had their mother’s looks, all sharp cheekbones and almond shaped green eyes. 

‘Well, hello,’ said Euron, and he took Cersei’s hand in his, pressing it to his mouth. 

Brienne coughed over her gag, but Cersei was eyeing him warily. ‘Where have they been hiding you? I usually scout for the most beautiful woman in the room.’ 

‘Is that so?’ Cersei said. ‘And who did you find?’ 

‘My darling, nobody could compare to you. May I ask what a Queen like you is doing in a place like this? Surely you don’t want the murderer Jaime Lannister for a husband? I’ve never met the man, but even I can tell he’s not worthy of you.’ 

‘And you are, I suppose?’ Cersei said, but the side of her mouth was lifting in a smile. 

‘The best for the best,’ Euron said. 

‘And what makes you think you’re the best?’ Cersei asked. ‘I’ve heard nothing about you before now.’ 

‘Well, my Queen, please let me tell you everything you wish to know.’ Euron held his arm out, and after a second's hesitation, Cersei took it, the couple walking off together. 

‘When my twins come out, please inform them where I've gone,’ Cersei said over her shoulder to Brienne and Yara. ‘They don’t like to be outside for too long, so I suspect they’ll be a while.’ 

They went off, Euron still talking, his low voice travelling back on the wind. 

‘Uncle Euron and Aunt Cersei,’ Yara said, staring after them miserably. ‘I‘m going to be sick.’ 

‘I wouldn't worry too much,’ Brienne said. ‘She’s trying to win this thing – she wouldn’t mess it up by sleeping with another man.’ 

‘How do you know she wants to win?’ Yara asked. 

‘She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t,’ Brienne said. ’Cersei doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to.’ 

They started walking back towards the middle of the garden. It wasn’t that big a space; when the twins came out, they’d be able to find their mother. 

‘Brienne,’ Yara said, ‘can I ask you something?’ 

‘Okay,’ Brienne said cautiously. 

‘Is it true that Sansa and Theon once slept together? He was really nervous about coming here today, and I made him tell me why when I saw him. He wasn’t sure if she remembered or how he was supposed to approach her. I thought he was making it up. Sansa’s too classy to go for my brother.’ 

Brienne looked at Yara. 

‘That’s really Sansa’s business,’ Brienne said, hoping Yara wouldn’t be too annoyed with her for not answering. 

Instead the dark-haired girl rolled her eyes, a smile on her face. ‘Fine. I should have known you wouldn’t tell me. I’m going to see if I can knock their two heads together. Do you want to come?’ 

‘I,’ Brienne said, before a small force hit her knees. A mess of curly dirty blond hair was grinning up at her. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ she said to Yara who waved goodbye and left. Brienne bent down, putting her arms around the small boy who was hugging her legs. ‘Hello, Rickon,’ she said. ‘I’m surprised you remember me.’ The youngest Stark stared at her with wide eyes. 

‘Of course I remember you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You’re Santa Claus!’ Brienne hid her smile, as she stood back up, scanning for another Stark. Rickon was never let out of their sight for long; as the baby of the family he had all the focus of his mother’s attention. While her other children had flown the nest, and were living their own lives, or were getting to the point where it was too hard to control them, Rickon could still be counted on to do as his mother said. 

The Santa Claus was an old lie, that Bran, the Stark just before Rickon had told him one evening. Brienne had been at one of the Stark’s Christmas parties, in a red dress, and the story had spread from there. Everyone had been amazed when Rickon had followed Brienne around all night, like she was a magical being. Catelyn had hit the roof when she’d heard what Bran had done, but Brienne had found it amusing. 

Anything that made a child look at you like you were literally the greatest thing on earth wasn’t something to be upset about. ‘What are you doing here?’ Rickon asked now. ‘What about the elves?’ 

‘Oh, they are in good hands,’ Brienne said. ‘And I’m undercover. Making sure all the little boys and girls are being good even in summer. It’s a very important job.’ 

Rickon nodded, like she’d just told him the secret of life. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he was the only little kid here. 

‘Rickon, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you, come here and stop bothering that poor...oh.’ Catelyn Stark had arrived. ‘Brienne. How good to see you.’ The shorter lady pulled Brienne into a hug, gripping her firmly. 

Brienne let the tight knot in her stomach unfurl a little. Everything was okay. Whatever happened Catelyn Stark would still be around, and would still be there for Brienne whatever she needed. ‘It’s been too long,’ Catelyn said, pulling back. ‘Let me settle Rickon back with his father and we’ll have a proper catch up.’ There was an expression Brienne couldn’t read in her Catelyn’s eyes as she took her son’s hand and disappeared back into the crowd. 

Once again Brienne was alone. Ros was still with her friends, their laughter harsh and braying and drunken. They were talking to Bronn and he was preening from all the attention. Brienne had no desire to join them. 

Missandei was talking quietly to a young guy, her gaze on her hands that were clasped tightly together. Given what Missandei had told them all earlier, it wouldn’t be right to interrupt them. Ygritte was with her father, a tall man with a thick red beard and long hair who was laughing with Daenerys and the older gentleman she’d invited. 

Robb Stark, Sansa and Yara were standing with a scruffy looking man that must be Theon, and all seemed to be having a great time. 

‘Here,’ said a gruff voice behind her. Brienne turned, slightly surprised to find The Hound thrusting a badly wrapped package her way. A cameraman was just behind him. 

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘And why are you giving it to me?’ She hadn’t seen him since their fight. His bruises had cleared up, just as hers had, although she doubted he’d had to have a ton of make-up slathered over his face for website segments. They wanted the bruises the first few days, to make sure the fight was fresh in people’s minds but after that, they had to be covered. 

‘It’s an apology,’ The Hound said. ‘For the fight.’ He was staring down at the ground, and his hand was clenched into a fist at his side. He didn’t want to do this, any more than she wanted to hear it. ‘Sorry. I took things a bit further than I was supposed to.’ 

‘That’s alright,’ Brienne said. She started to peel off the Sellotape from the present, just for something to do. ‘So did I.’ 

‘That was awful,’ said Ramsay, appearing from behind the camera. ‘Can we get it again with a little bit more emotion? We need people to believe this.’ 

‘If you don’t get out of my sight right now,’ The Hound growled, taking a step towards Ramsay, ‘I’ll shove that camera up your arse. I don’t apologise, and I’m not doing it again.’ Ramsay tried to hold his ground for a few more seconds before he turned around, muttering about ‘not being paid enough to deal with this shit.’ 

‘Nicely done,’ Brienne said. She tore the rest of the wrapping off, stunned to see she now held a dark blue helmet in her hands. It was a proper motorbike one too, with a visor to flip over her eyes. ‘This is quite a gift.’ 

‘I didn’t think you’d want flowers,’ The Hound said. 

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I’m not really a flowers kind of woman. This is much better. Thank you.’ 

The Hound shrugged, her attention making him uncomfortable. He looked around him, making sure there were no more cameras, then took a step towards her. 

‘I thought you could use it,’ he said quietly. A chill passed over Brienne, although she refused to look up and meet his eyes. He knew about her trips to The Bear Pit; he had to. 

‘Are you sure this isn’t just to try and get in Sansa’s good books?’ Brienne blurted out, the first thought in her head. ‘Get her to like you again?’ 

The Hound snorted. 

‘I don’t like Sansa like that. She’s practically a child. And I think she’s taken anyway.’ He nodded over to where Sansa was staring at Theon like he’d been sent to rescue her. It was weird seeing the two of them together, even with Sansa in her borrowed clothes; you could still see the well-maintained manicure and haircut, the proper way she held herself. Compared to Theon who was slouching down, hands shoved in ripped jeans, long hair looking like it hadn’t been near scissors in quite some time. ‘I just wanted to warn her.’ 

‘About what?’ Brienne asked sharply. 

‘The Lannister's, and Petyr. Nothing serious, don’t worry. But I hear a lot of things. I knew Petyr was going to try and push all her buttons. I didn’t want to let him get to her. That was all. I felt bad for the girl. She doesn’t deserve to be used for ratings.’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said. ‘She doesn’t.’ 

‘I’ll warn you instead,’ The Hound said. ‘Tywin’s in town. He came to our hotel last night.’ 

‘And why are you telling me?’ Brienne asked. She was spinning the helmet round in her hands, feeling the smooth surface, the heavy weight. She needed to get this back to her room, before Petyr decided she didn’t need it. 

‘Because I think the lure of this party might be a little too much for Tywin to pass up. Just a head’s up,’ The Hound said, already backing away from her. ‘I’d keep an eye out if I were you.’ 

* 

The party was still in full swing two hours later. Ned Stark and his three youngest children had departed, but Catelyn and Robb had stayed. Everyone else was still here, most of them mingling with each other, the more drinks consumed, the more social everyone got. Margaery’s Grandmother was commanding a whole table, telling stories from her past, which made Ros’s friends fall about with laughter. Brienne had spent her fair share of time there this evening, listing to Olenna Tyrell tell her how glorious she was looking, and how it had been brilliant watching Brienne beat The Hound into the dirt. 

Renly and Loras had made faces at her across the table, hastily rearranged when Olenna looked their way. 

Now Brienne was in the kitchen, leaning against the sink. She just needed five minutes to recharge. Five minutes of silence. 

‘Oh, sorry,’ said a voice at the door, and Brienne opened her eyes, staring at Myrcella Baratheon. ‘I didn’t realise anyone was in here.’ 

‘That’s alright,’ Brienne said. ‘I was going in a minute anyway. Just needed a second. There’s a lot of people outside.’ 

‘Tell me about it,’ Myrcella said, flopping down into one of the chairs. ‘I mean, really, tell me about it. I haven’t spoken to barely anyone except Mum and that guy she’s chatting with. She won’t let me and her brother out of her sight.’ 

‘She misses you,’ Brienne said carefully, keeping an eye on the door, and wondering if she could hear Cersei approaching. She didn’t much fancy the wrath that would come her way if she was found talking to one of Cersei’s precious children. 

‘If she missed us that much maybe she shouldn’t have left us for six weeks,’ Myrcella said. ‘Sorry. That was unkind.’ 

‘Don’t say sorry to me’ Brienne said. ‘She’s your mother. You can feel how you like.’ 

‘Oh, it’s not even like I really mind,’ Myrcella said, flapping a hand about. She twisted her dark hair into a coil, then released it, letting it shimmer down her back like a waterfall. The Baratheon’s obviously didn’t believe in short hair; even Tommen had a styled mop of hair. ‘But if she wasn’t going to be with us, she could have let me go away with my friends. An all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean. For six weeks. Can you imagine?’ The wistfulness laced through her words. ‘But no. Mum had to take part in this, and I can’t be that mad at her, anyway, because she’s always fancied Jaime, even though she pretends she doesn’t. Like we believe they just accidentally ran into each other several times. Yeah, okay mum, pull the other one.’ She rolled her eyes, and Brienne stilled. 

‘Your mother and Jaime know each other?’ she asked. Then wondered why she was surprised. She’d met Jaime before this show. Sansa and Margaery had. Even Yara had a few times she’d admitted. Their circle was small. 

But Cersei had never mentioned knowing Jaime before. Much less knowing him enough to – arrange? - days out where he would be. 

‘Oh, yeah, we’ve known Jaime for years. Since we were born, basically. He wasn’t around much when we were really young, though I think there’s one photo of him holding us, but he doesn’t look happy in it. But when Mum left Dad, he appeared a bit more, and I sometimes heard Mum on the phone to his business. I thought she was trying to get a job but when I asked, she laughed and asked what she would need one of those for; Dad had set her up for life.’ 

Cersei had fancied Jaime, probably for years. It made sense. He was rich, they were similar ages, and he was good looking. She obviously fancied him for husband number two. 

Then what? Brienne wondered. Obviously the whole murder thing had happened, and he‘d disappeared. But Cersei hadn’t given up. At least not completely. Like Margaery, she must have heard he was going to be the suitor on the show, and bribed or blackmailed her way into being a contestant. ‘And she told us we were going to have to stay here this summer and told us about the show. I was so mad, I refused to come out of my room for a week! But then I saw the first episode and saw it was Jaime, I realised why she had to do it. This is her one chance to get him.’ 

‘Right,’ Brienne said. 

‘Oh, Gods, please don’t tell anyone I said anything!’ Myrcella pleaded. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Mum will be so mad.’ 

‘I won’t say anything,’ Brienne said. She didn’t care. Of course, she didn’t. So, Cersei was after Jaime; hadn’t she suspected as much already? Years of flirtation had been a bit of a shock, but should it have been? Cersei would have been after every good-looking rich guy once her marriage had broken up. 

‘Do you promise?’ Myrcella asked. 

‘I promise,’ Brienne said. ‘I should get to the party, but don’t fret. I won’t say a word.’ She mimed zipping her lips, and throwing away a key, and a watery giggle escaped from the young girl. Brienne left the kitchen, a heavy weight in her stomach. 

Well, she thought, she’d just have to fight that little bit harder from now on. 

The garden was still in full swing, groups sitting on the floor now, titled champagne flutes stuck in the ground next to them. Brienne knew they had an early morning, and thought of the day tomorrow; half the women would be hungover. She made a mental note to stock up on pain killers, when shouts came from the gates. The Hound’s warning came to mind, and she rushed over, determined to keep Tywin away from the remaining Starks. 

It wasn’t Tywin. Instead, when she reached the gates, there was a short man with dark black hair and toffee coloured skin. He wore a deep yellow shirt open to his waist and white trousers, with sandals on his feet. 

The source of the shouting seemed to be that behind him was a white horse. 

‘I’ve told you,’ the man shouted, ‘I was invited. Through a third party.’ 

‘Well, you’re not on the list,’ said Ramsay. He’d obviously been tasked to deal with this issue, even though Petyr was in the garden. ‘And there’s no way that thing in coming inside.’ 

‘Well he has too, or this gesture won’t mean very much,’ the uninvited guest said. Bells started ringing in Brienne’s head. ‘Walking over the grass won’t mean very much.’ 

‘Much to who?’ asked Ramsay. 

‘Let me in and you’ll find out,’ the man said, a charming grin on his face. Ramsay wasn’t one to be sweet talked, or to fall for charm. ‘Come on, aren’t you even a little curious? There can’t be many people who ride up to these gates on a horse.’ 

‘How did you even get it here?’ Brienne asked, emerging from the shadows behind them. Both men turned to look at her. ‘Surely you didn’t walk it all through London?’ 

‘There’s a horse box waiting a few streets away,’ the man said. He held out a hand for Brienne to shake. ‘I’m -’ 

‘Oh, I know who you are,’ Brienne said. The charm. The general air of lust that hung about him. 

The talk of gestures and the slight accent to his voice. There could only be one woman he was here for. ‘You should let him in,’ she said to Ramsay. ‘Petyr is after drama, and I guarantee this will be all anyone can talk about.’ 

‘Whatever,’ Ramsay said to her. He stepped back, and the guy gave a whoop, then jumped up onto the horse in an impressive move. ‘But you better be right, or I’ll make you look even worse than you already do.’ 

Brienne wasn’t sure if he meant in the editing, or if he had actually just threatened to punch her in the face. She didn’t have time to find out. 

The guy on the horse had ridden so close to Ramsay, he could reach out and grab him by his shirt collar – which he did, leaving Ramsay gasping and swearing as his feet dragged along the ground. 

‘Where I come from, we don’t talk to women like that. Apologise to the lady.’ 

‘You can’t make me,’ Ramsay said, but he spluttered through the words, his face turning red. 

Brienne wanted to speak up and tell the guy to let go of Ramsay – but she was enjoying this far too much. Ramsay could do with a good scare. 

‘Oh, but you underestimate me,’ the guy said. ‘I will have no problem beating you up – I might look small, but I promise I’m mighty. And I’ll have no trouble paying off witnesses and getting out of whatever charges you’re already thinking about pressing.’ He flashed his grin again. ‘Apologise.’ He flexed his fingers which were holding the horse's reins, and the silver rings on them glinted dully under the lights from the garden. 

‘Sorry,’ Ramsay spat. The guy released him at once, and he went sprawling to the floor, making a horrible thudding sound as he landed. He lay there in the grass and mud, his heavy breathing filling the silence. 

‘Oberyn Martell at your service,’ the guy said, tipping an imaginary hat to Brienne. ‘I suggest you get back inside. You won’t want to miss the show.’ 

Brienne did as he said, taking up a good position on one of the low walls around the garden. Flowers waved gently in the evening breeze behind her, and she crossed one leg over the over, excited despite everything. 

She saw people sitting further towards the gate turn first. The horse was galloping into the garden, and there were shrieks as they hurried to their feet, dashing out of the way. Shouts filled the air, and Brienne saw Theon grab Yara and Sansa, and drag them back against a wall. The Tyrell table was sitting frozen. 

There wasn’t a single eye that wasn’t fixed on the horse. 

‘Ellaria,’ said Oberyn as he pulled the horse to a gentle stop in front of the woman. From here Brienne could see Ellaria’s expression perfectly – there was a smile fighting to break out on her lips, although her gaze was cold. ‘It’s been too long.’ Oberyn reached a hand down, tugging one of Ellaria’s in his and bringing it to his lips. 

‘Is this supposed to impress me?’ Ellaria asked. ‘Riding in on a white horse?’ 

‘The zoo wouldn’t let me hire a more exotic animal. I was told a loose tiger or polar bear might frighten the faint hearted. And it’s hell to get a saddle on an elephant.’ 

‘You can’t just ride in and expect me to go with you,’ Ellaria said. She tossed her curls to one side, turning her face up to him. ‘For all you know I’ve fallen in love with Jaime Lannister and want to marry him.’ 

A grin took over Oberyn’s face. 

‘Oh, I know you better than that. You could never fall for a man so cruel.’ He bent down over the horse, taking Ellaria’s chin in his hands. ‘You could never fall for anyone else. You love me as much as I love you. My heart has been hurt watching you every week compete for a man not fit to lay with you. I am sorry, my love, for our fight.’ 

They stared at each other, Ellaria’s gaze softening. Brienne swallowed and looked away. It felt private this moment, and a hot spike of unfairness was pricking under her skin. She knew she didn’t look like Ellaria. But was she really so hideous? She must be; nobody was ever going to want her the way Oberyn wanted Ellaria. 

She wouldn’t even mind. She’d hate someone riding in on a literal white horse and making her the centre of attention; but she’d settle for someone at least being interested in her. Someone who loved her enough to make her day a little better just by being there. 

‘Come,’ Oberyn said, and Ellaria obeyed, letting him lift her onto the horse. ‘It is time for you to come home.’ 

Their lips met, and everyone in the garden cheered, shouted, whooped. Theon let out a wolf whistle that made Sansa dissolve into giggles. 

The newly reunited couple rode out the way they’d come in, past a dishevelled Ramsay who was staring daggers at them. 

Brienne made the mistake of meeting Petyr’s eyes across the garden. She didn’t know why he was looking at her; Ramsay had probably told him of how she’d let Oberyn in. 

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. He’d wanted drama. 

Maybe you should be careful what you wished for. 

* 

The evening ended with Catelyn walking Brienne up to her room. They’d put a giggling Sansa to bed, telling her that no, they couldn’t believe the events of tonight, and checking to make sure she had everything she needed; water, painkillers, a bucket next to her bed just in case. Brienne would have offered to stay the night with her, but Sansa had seemed okay; she’d fallen asleep within seconds of her mother tucking her in. 

‘It’s good to see the light come back to her eyes,’ Catelyn said as her and Brienne trudged up the stairs. ‘Every week on TV it breaks my heart to see that dull look on her face. I can’t believe we let her do this; can’t believe I trusted Petyr to take care of her.’ 

‘He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her,’ Brienne said. ‘Not really.’ 

‘It’s always hard to tell with Petyr,’ Catelyn said, a slight frown on her face. ‘Sansa’s here because he wanted the most amount of drama possible. He wanted the show to be spoken about; and he’s got what he wanted. I just wish it hadn’t been at her happiness. She called us in tears the night you found out you were competing for Jaime.’ The name rang with disgust and Brienne made a small noise of agreement. 

‘Sansa’s strong,’ Brienne said. ‘And she has me and Margaery. We won’t let anything happen to her. And the public won’t let her win. You have to believe that.’ 

‘Oh, me and Ned have made plans even if she does win,’ Catelyn said. ‘Just in case. The family are invited to the wedding, and if she walks into the church, Robb’s going to grab her and bundle her into a waiting car.’ Catelyn shot her Brienne a look. ‘We could have the same plan in place for you. If you wanted.’ 

Brienne huffed a small laugh. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘But out of the nine remaining women, I very much doubt I’ll be the one to win.’ 

‘You could be,’ Catelyn said. ‘We’ve been watching. From the outside you and Jaime look like you’d make a good couple.’ Brienne stopped for a moment, before willing herself to carry on walking. She couldn’t let Catelyn’s words get to her. She couldn’t hope, couldn’t let that stupid fluttery feeling in her chest loose. 

‘Yes, and as soon as anyone looked at us you’d see why we wouldn’t make a good couple. In terms of looks he’s a ten and I’m barely a three.’ 

‘You’ve always talked yourself down,’ Catelyn said. They’d reached Brienne’s room now, but had stopped outside. This was the only time they’d had to catch up tonight, and Brienne had realised how much she’d missed the Starks over the last few years. There had been a time, after her brother, when she’d basically lived with them, Selwyn leaving her with them for days at a time while her parents coped with their own grief, or when he was so consumed with his new business idea he couldn’t possible take care of a young girl, not with her mother still trapped in sadness for her son. ‘That boyfriends of yours really did a number on you.’ Brienne shrugged; it wasn’t just her ex-boyfriend who had given her this view. She heard it every day from TV shows and films and books; they only wanted to show the pretty girl’s stories. ‘Interesting’ looking woman rarely got a look in, and when they did, they were praised because of how brave they were being, how fabulous it was that someone who didn’t fit the normal standard was being shown for once. She didn't want to be interesting or different. ‘Some people will never get over your worst features,’ Catelyn said. ‘That’s true for everyone. You just need to find the people who focus on your good ones.’ 

‘One day,’ Brienne said, although she still couldn’t quite make the thoughts gel together in her head. 

Maybe. Maybe a miracle would happen, and the public would vote her to win this thing. Maybe that tiny tiny flicker of something that she felt between her and Jaime could turn into a full-on flame. 

But maybe she was better concentrating on reality, and preparing herself for the worst. ‘How are you finding it here?’ Catelyn asked. ‘I notice your father didn’t come tonight.’ 

‘He’s working,’ Brienne said. ‘And anyway...’ 

‘Yes, anyway, nobody seems to have made the connection between the two of you,’ Catelyn said. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why you bother to keep it all so secret. More silly thoughts about you not being good enough?’ Brienne nodded. ‘He might not be the best at showing it, but your father does love you,’ Catelyn said. 

Brienne nodded again. She knew that. It was the rest of her she had doubts about; Selwyn loved her, but did he trust her? To take over his business? 

‘And how do you feel about Jaime Lannister?’ Catelyn asked, and Brienne suddenly found the beige wall opposite her very interesting. 

‘He’s a Lannister,’ Brienne said. ‘He’s a murderer. I don’t want to win this.’ 

‘Are you sure?’ Catelyn asked. Her tone was gentle, but Brienne felt a bristling of her skin, something she never felt with Catelyn. ‘Don’t be mad, Brienne, but I see the way you look at him when he’s on TV. You smile, and your face gets softer. And all that stuff yesterday, calling him out for what he did; you’ve always tried to deny your emotions by saying the opposite of what you feel. I remember how you used to moan about how annoying Renly was.’ 

‘I don’t like Jaime Lannister,’ Brienne said, firmly. She couldn’t have anyone find out. If anyone noticed, and then she didn’t win, she’d have to put up with pitying looks, and sad smiles and it would be a nightmare. 

‘Just be careful,’ Catelyn said, leaning forward to squeeze Brienne’s arm. ‘The Lannister’s are never what they seem. They always have something hidden up their sleeve and it’s usually poison.’ 

‘I don’t like Jaime Lannister,’ Brienne repeated. She let Catelyn hug her, enjoying the motherly feeling for a brief moment before pulling back. ‘I don’t.’ 

‘If that’s what you need to tell me,’ Catelyn said. ‘Just please heed my words; Lannister’s are dangerous. I just want you to see the sting coming.’ 

Catelyn left then, and Brienne watched her go before going into her bedroom. She wouldn’t be able to sleep, she knew that. Instead she paced, the conversations and events from tonight running in a loop on her mind. Tywin hadn’t shown up, despite The Hound’s warning; Ellaria and Oberyn; Sansa and Theon; what Cersei’s daughter had told her, and what Catelyn had just warned her about. 

She turned again, this time facing her small chest of drawers, her eyes catching on the present from The Hound. 

There was someone she could talk to. Someone who would either confirm her fears or relax them. Or, even if they didn’t talk about the show at all, someone she could have a good evening with. 

It was so stupid. She didn’t even know if Jaime would be at The Bear Pit; he knew all the contestants and his F&F would be over at the house tonight, and he had to know it was going to be a late one. 

She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking. 

And then she grabbed her shiny new helmet, and slipped out her bedroom door. 

* 

The band Davos told them about were still playing. She could hear them from the carpark, as soon as she cut Oathkeeper’s engine. The disco lights flashed past the window, turning the grey pavement multicoloured for a moment before darkness descended once again. 

Davos greeted her when she entered, ushing her to the usual table at the back, away from the people crammed up against the stage. She was safe here, under the stil blown bulb, furthest from the bar. Nobody would see her.. 

She sipped the Coke Davos brought her. Made small talk with him for a while in the silence between the band’s songs. Clenched and unclenched her fist on the table. Kept her gaze pinned to the door, before shaking her head and moving her eyes away again. 

She’d been sitting there for half an hour before Jaime entered. He kept his head down as he made his way towards her table, and Brienne tried to calm her heart. Did he just come here every night hoping that she would be here? Did he ask his driver to drive past the bar, keeping an eye out for Oathkeeper, entering only when he saw the bike parked outside? 

She didn’t want to know. Maybe he only came here because he liked the bar, and needed an escape. 

‘Was it so awful you needed to turn to drink?’ Jaime asked, nodding at her glass as he slid into the chair opposite her. The band was on a ten minute break so the lead singer could smoke, and Brienne was relishing the sudden break in loud music. 

‘This is a coke,’ she said. ‘I told you, I don’t get drunk. Much. And the party wasn’t too bad,’ she said. ‘I had fun.’ 

‘It must have been nice to see your family again,’ Jaime said. ‘I presume you’ve found out that my father happens to be back, even though he wasn’t supposed to be arriving until tomorrow? Luckily me and Tyrion talked him into not going tonight.’ Jaime nodded his thanks as Davos placed another glass of Coke down in front of him. 

Jaime looked tired. There was a hangdog expression on his face, and he looked into the glass like he wished it contained more than a soft drink. 

‘My father couldn’t make it,’ Brienne said to distract him. She couldn’t imagine that spending all day with Tywin, angry about not being allowed to the party like a grounded teenager would have been the best atmosphere. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaime said. ‘I wanted everyone to have a good time.’ Everyone, Brienne thought, like Cersei? If Jaime had spent any amount of time with her, he’d know how she felt about her kids. 

‘I did have a good time,’ Brienne said. ‘The Starks are old friends, as are the Tyrells and it was great to catch up with all of them. And there were some great moments.’ She thought about the white horse and Ellaria getting her happy ending. 

‘How come your father couldn’t make it?’ Jaime asked. 

‘He’s currently out of the UK. Some business deal,’ Brienne said vaguely. 

‘There’s always a business deal, isn’t there?’ Jaime asked. He shifted a little, leaning back in his chair to really look at Brienne. ‘Or an important meeting, or a crisis that has to be solved and they are the only person in the world who can sort things out.’ 

‘A client that needs looking after,’ Brienne added, ‘someone so important they’ll accept nothing less than the big boss holding their hand.’ 

‘And even though we should be the ones learning how to do what they do, they never ask us to come along and watch.’ Jaime added. 

‘They look at us like they’re not sure they really want their company in our hands, and press all the boring paperwork and meetings on us, but the day to day stuff we won’t learn unless we live it,’ Brienne mused. It felt freeing to finally say all this; none of her friends really got it. Margaery was involved in every aspect of the perfume company, had been shadowing her Grandmother since she was thirteen. And Sansa no longer had a company to take over. ‘Telling us ‘we’re not ready’ and ‘don’t know what we’re doing’ but refuse to help make us ready or show us what we should be doing.’ 

‘You father feels like that too?’ Jaime asked. He looked stunned, like he hadn’t realised any of this. Maybe he hadn’t. After all he still didn’t know what business Brienne would be taking over one day. 

‘My father had a small company for years,’ Brienne said. ‘My brother was always going to take over and my father couldn’t have been happier about it. Gal went to all the meetings, meeting the big boys, shaking their hands, bonding over drinks when he turned 18. And when he died my father threw himself into his business. He created...something else, something special in his grief. The whole company blew up and got bigger and bigger than we ever thought it would be. I try to think it’s because of its size that he’s worried about me, but sometimes it just feels like...’ 

‘Like you’re not good enough, and never will be?’ Jaime asked. 

Brienne nodded. 

‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she suggested. These meetings weren’t supposed to be heavy; they were supposed to be a little bit of fun, an escape from the world of reality TV. 

‘Tell me about the party,’ Jaime said. ‘Was everyone excited?’ 

‘They were,’ Brienne said. ‘It was a good idea to have their family members over to the house.’ She told him about Sansa meeting a boy from her past, although she left out the details. She told him about her chat with Catelyn, although she left out the bulk of what they’d talked about, just told him it had been nice to talk with her after the last few years of ten-minute conversations at parties, or quick chats over the phone. 

When the band came back, they moved outside to the car park. Jaime’s taxi was idly by the curb, and Brienne wondered how much money this driver was making. Wondered if the driver pulled up opposite Jaime’s hotel every night, just waiting for the moment Jaime appeared, pound signs in his eyes. 

‘Anything interesting happen?’ Jaime asked. ‘Tyrion was worried about him being in the same space as all the Starks.’ 

‘That was fine,’ Brienne said lightly. ‘They don’t blame him for what happened.’ She left it there, not wanting to darken their time together any more than it was already, plagued as she was with the things in his past and Catelyn’s Starks warnings. ‘There was some drama, but it’s nothing bad. It’s good actually.’ 

‘You can’t tell me that and nothing else,’ Jaime said. 

‘It‘ll be better if you don’t know anything,’ Brienne protested. The neon pink of the bar sign washed over Jaime’s face, making him a model from an 80s music video, and her heart tugged. ‘There was a lot of romance in the air tonight, that’s all I’m saying. Saturday should be a great show, and we haven’t even filmed most of it yet.’ 

‘Romance? More than Sansa and whoever it was? Come on, Brienne, you can’t leave me with that. If you don’t, Tyrion will tell me.’ 

‘He won’t,’ Brienne laughed. ‘He likes teasing you more than I do.’ 

‘You like teasing me?’ Jaime said, voice suddenly serious. Brienne felt the blush on her neck, and stared away from his face, into the shadowy buildings opposite the bar. 

‘The Hound gave me a present,’ she said, blurting out the first thought in her head. ‘To say sorry for the fight. He didn’t need to, but it was a thoughtful gift. I didn’t realise The Hound did thoughtful.’ 

‘Did you like it?’ Jaime asked, and there was something like hope in his voice, but that made no sense. Why would he want her to like a present from The Hound? 

‘I did,’ she said. ‘It was a helmet for Oathkeeper. No more dangerous driving for me.’ She’d attached the helmet by its straps to Oathkeeper while she was inside The Bear Pit. No point lugging it around with her. ‘Better than flowers, anyway.’ 

‘Pod mentioned you don’t do flowers. Is there a story behind that?’ Jaime asked. 

‘There is.’ She could not tell him. Let him wonder. ‘My ex-boyfriend. Only boyfriend. Plied me with flowers, roses usually. Just one a day at first, before he built up to bunches. It was hard to say no to that kind of effort. He kept it up for two months before I finally agreed to go out with him. I didn’t like him, not that way, to be honest, but he seemed sweet if a bit needy. I only agreed because I wanted the flowers to stop. We dated for a short time. He was the first man I slept with, and that was only because I didn’t want to be a virgin any longer.’ She briefly wondered if she’d gone too far; but it was too late now. ‘It was all for a bet. Some stupid thing him and his mates cooked up. They all pitched in for the roses each day.’ Her face was bright red now, she could tell, and she was glad for the darkness. Glad for the cold air too, whipping about her body, making her shiver. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaime said. ‘I didn’t think guys still did that outside fiction.’ 

‘Well,’ Brienne said. ‘Now you know.’ She hadn’t cried over her past in a very long time and she wasn’t about to start now. Her ex had been a dick. She’d got even with him, punching him in the face, even if her dad had had to pay him off not to press charges. She could still sometimes remember the satisfying way his mouth had split open under her knuckles, the blood spurting onto the ground below. The wild shock in his eyes that Brienne, calm, composed, so easy to fool, Brienne could do something like that. ‘Anyway,’ Brienne said quickly. ‘I’m not the only woman in the world to be hurt by a man. And I wasn’t even hurt that much; my pride got wounded more than anything else.’ 

‘You’ve done a good job recovering,’ Jaime said. ‘That could scar someone for life.’ Brienne nodded, refusing to let the thoughts in the back of her mind come out. Was her ex the reason she believed that nobody would ever love her? She’d had the odd thought before him of course, but maybe he had proved it to her. Maybe that was why she wouldn’t even put herself out there on dating apps, or let her friends set her up. She maintained that she wasn’t interested in romance, but being here now, with Jaime, she wondered if that was just a lie she told herself so her heart would always remain whole. 

‘Like I said, people recover,' Brienne said. 'I mean look at Cersei,’ she said now. ‘Her and Robert were together since they were teenagers, and then all those stories came out about him. How he cheated on her for years, and fathered more children. She must have been heartbroken, and she’s pulled herself together.’ 

‘I suppose,’ Jaime said. He hadn’t changed his expression. His body hadn’t become rigid. 

‘She’s got no problems looking for love again,’ Brienne said. This was dangerous territory, but she needed to know; was there any truth to what Myrcella had said? 

‘Because she’s on here?’ Jaime asked. ‘I thought you said none of the women wanted to marry me. Being on The One doesn’t prove she’s looking for love again.’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said. The next words rushed out of her, ‘but that she spent the entire evening flirting with Euron Greyjoy does. He’s not a man who’ll think nothing of her actions.’ 

‘She what?’ Jaime asked, and now there was a muscle twitching in his cheek. 

It didn’t mean anything. 

‘Euron was quite taken with her,’ Brienne said, slowly now. Jaime’s good fist was clenched in a fist at his side. She'd forgotten who he was. Was so used to him being Jaime, the guy at the bar, with the teasing smirk, that she’d forgotten, or pushed his past to the back of her mind. 

But now there were in a dark carpark, with music blaring from the building behind them. She didn’t think Jaime would hurt her, but he had a temper. She inched her way a little more towards Oathkeeper. ‘They spent the whole afternoon together.’ 

Tell me you’re not bothered, she thought to herself. Laugh it off, and say I guess that’s one down. 

He didn’t. 

‘And you’re sure they were flirting, are you?’ Jaime asked. He shook his head. ‘Were you following them around, listening in on their conversations? How do you know they’re not old friends?’ 

‘Are they?’ she fired back. ‘From what I hear you know Cersei quite well. Do you know Euron too?’ 

‘I’ve met them both,’ Jaime said shortly. 

‘And that’s all is it?’ Brienne asked. ‘Nothing more? Because you seem mightily pissed for someone who’s just met them a few times.’ 

‘Cersei is supposed to want to marry me,’ Jaime said. He took a step back, trying to control his temper. ‘All of them are supposed to want to marry me. Is it wrong that hearing about the others flirting makes me a little jealous?’ He said the others, Brienne registered. Not ‘hearing about you lot’. He wasn’t including her in the contestants. 

And he hadn’t reacted like this when she’d told him about Sansa. Doubted he would have had she told him about Ellaria either. 

‘You want her to win,’ Brienne said quietly. ‘Cersei. You want her.’ 

‘Well, what if I do? Everyone else is too young,’ I’m not, Brienne thought, ‘or too unknow,’ but you know me, Brienne thought, ‘or in this to spy on the others. Is it wrong of me to want the only woman good enough for me on the show?’ 

‘I guess not,’ Brienne said. She walked to Oathkeeper. ‘There’s a long pointless week ahead of me,’ she said. ‘I need to get some sleep.’ 

‘Brienne, wait,’ Jaime said, and for a second there was a fleeting ghost of a hand on her arm before it turned to a phantom touch. ‘I didn’t mean that. I like Cersei, but she’s not the only one good enough. You know I don’t mean that.’ 

‘Yes, you do,’ she said. She kicked one of her legs over her bike. ‘Thank you,’ she said. 

‘For what?’ he asked, warily. 

‘For showing me the Jaime Lannister I forgot you were,’ she said. Whatever he said next – if indeed he did say anything – was lost in the sound of her engine as she kick-started her bike and drove away from The Bear Pit.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap yourselves in. It's the biggest one yet.

On Monday morning, when Brienne woke up and made her way into the living room, she was glad of one thing – that she hadn’t drunk last night. Margaery and Sansa were wearing giant blacked out sunglasses, their hair in low ponytails like they hadn’t even bothered this morning. Sansa was in a simple shift black dress, while Margaery had pulled on a pair of linen trousers and a fuzzy light blue jumper. Ros was in the kitchen with the door closed, cooking what she called her ‘hangover cure,’ and moaning every time she made a loud noise. Yara and Ygritte seemed to have fared better, although they were still wincing every now and then. 

Missandei hadn’t had anything to drink last night, and Brienne couldn’t tell with Daenerys. She floated through the house as usual, although there was a tightness in her smile that alluded to a headache. 

And Cersei had been banished to the garden, even though it was already overcast, because Joffrey wasn’t allowed in the house unless he could keep quiet, and that seemed to be a trick the dog hadn’t yet learnt. 

‘What do you think we’ll be doing today?’ Sansa asked as Brienne flopped down on the sofa opposite her. ‘We’ve been talking, and we can’t decide who they’ll make us spend the day with first.’ 

‘Probably Pod,’ said Brienne. She hadn’t really spoken to the boy yesterday, but they’d smiled at each other across the garden, and she’d seen him speaking to Petyr, no doubt making sure everything was set for today. ‘As much as I like him, Petyr will find him the least interesting of Jaime’s F&F. Will want to get him out of the way first.’ 

‘What do you know about Pod?’ Margaery asked, sitting forward and groaning a little. ‘I know you taught him self-defense for a while, but what else? What do you think he’ll make us do today?’ 

‘Honestly, I’m not sure,’ Brienne said. She’d spent her night trying to force her thoughts onto the week ahead so that she wouldn’t have to concentrate on anything else. ‘He was always a little bit of a closed book. I didn’t even realise that he was working for the Lannister’s, not until he showed up here and he must have got the job just before I stopped teaching the classes.’ 

‘It’s weird,’ Yara said. ‘I remember going to the Lannister offices a year ago – my father wanted them to help sponsor the new ‘water battleground’ we’re building at one of the parks, and he refused to meet with anyone other than the big bosses. We went to Jaime’s office, but I don’t remember Pod being there.’ She frowned. ‘I’m sure we were served by a woman. Jaime made us wait ages, and my father got really angry. She just sat and smiled at us.’ 

‘Maybe Pod had a sick day?’ Sansa suggested. ‘Or was on holiday or something?’ 

‘Could be,’ Yara said. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway; it was just bugging me. I like Pod, he seems nice, but I don’t want to be too friendly to him in case people think I’m trying to move closer to Jaime.’ She sighed. ‘It’s so difficult, trying to judge every single decision I make here, and wondering what the viewers at home are going to be thinking.’ 

‘I thought you didn’t care about the viewers?’ Cersei said as she swept into the room. She was in leather trousers today, and a top with tails that streamed behind her. ‘Calm down, Joffrey is outside,’ she said to heed off Sansa’s protests. ‘Although Gods knows why. It’s freezing out there, and he’s huddled just under the kitchen door, howling to be let in.’ 

‘I didn’t say he had to be left outside, he’s just not allowed in here,’ Sansa said. ‘I want one day where that monster isn’t biting or scratching or barking at me.’ 

‘I don’t care what the viewers think,’ Yara said, before the Cersei and Sansa conversation could turn heated. They’d been arguing about Joffrey almost non-stop since he’d been here. ‘But I don’t want them to think I want Jaime.’ She pulled a face. ‘My reputation would never live it down.’ 

‘There are worse things for people to think about you,’ Cersei said. 

‘What than that I actually want to marry a murderer? No offence,’ Yara said to Daenerys. ‘No thanks.’ 

Brienne saw the tiniest twitch in Cersei’s cheek. Was it because Daenerys wanted Jaime too? 

Or was it at the thought that nobody else wanted him because of his past? She might not know Cersei all that much, not really, but she seemed like the kind of person who only really wanted something because everybody else did. She’d radiated an aura of smugness all throughout her marriage to Robert, like every other woman should be jealous of her. She’d even seemed smug when the marriage had come crashing down – but, if the stories were to be believed, she’d wanted it over anyway. Cersei was the kind of person who got whatever she wanted. Would Cersei still want Jaime when she realised nobody else did? 

The answer to that was yes - if Cersei no longer wanted Jaime, she wouldn’t be here. Brienne had come to the conclusion last night that Petyr wouldn‘t be able to blackmail Cersei into staying. 

Unlike Brienne. 

She suppressed a sigh as her thoughts came back to this idea again. She could leave. Tell Petyr she was going, and then go, no matter what he tried to throw at her. Telling everyone about who she was? Well, so what? Her father had given her the go ahead anyway. 

And she’d be able to pay off whatever amount of money Petyr had written into their contracts for leaving the show. 

But who knew what stories Petyr would then leak to the press about her? He could do a lot to her reputation, just as Yara had said. One wrong move, and she was at his mercy. He could tell the press she was rude and demanding, that she‘d been a drama queen during the weeks she was on the show. A few of the other women who’d been eliminated would probably even back him up if the price was right. And she couldn’t do that to her father. 

She was stuck. Even more so than she was before – her escape bar was now off limits. She couldn’t go back, not knowing if Jaime would be there or not. It was too risky. 

It would be too hard to see him again, knowing that he was rooting for Cersei to win this. 

The doorbell went, and she stood hurriedly, telling everyone that she’d get it. No one seemed to care very much, a few of them putting their hands over their ears at the shrillness, Sansa pulling one of the sofa cushions over her face and groaning into it. 

Brienne needed a moment. Just one. To get the image that she couldn’t erase from her head out from behind her eyes. 

She’d told herself that she wouldn’t win this thing from the start. Knew it was ridiculous, and unlikely, and that she didn’t want to win anyway. A divorce would surely come quickly after their wedding night, and she’d be humiliated. 

Then she’d beaten The Hound up. And she’d met Jaime. And she had his old bike. 

And she was still here. 

So she’d wondered about the wedding. Her, in white, a delicate flower crown on her head. The veil, streaming behind her. Only in weak moments, the seconds before she fell asleep, ones she tried very hard to forget about during the day. 

But now she had a new image. Her, in the wedding dress, walking down the aisle, knowing she was going towards Jaime. The curtain the show used to separate the soon to be husband and wife until the very last second, dropping, showing Jaime his new wife to be. 

And Jaime’s face, full of disgust and upset as he saw her, and not Cersei, the woman he wanted to win. 

Sam Tarly was at the door, his soft smile back today. Things with Gilly were obviously going well, and though Brienne wanted to know news from the outside, she wouldn’t ask. It was between Sam and Gilly. 

Margaery had told them that a magazine profiled each of the women when they left, sitting them down and chatting to them about their time in the house. Margaery had drawn the articles up on her phone yesterday, but there hadn’t been a lot of time for everyone to read them; just for a quick glance. Brienne knew Gilly had been questioned about the mysterious contestant who’d given her the thimble, but that Gilly hadn’t let anything slip. 

She supposed it would only be a matter of time. Perhaps Sam and Gilly were waiting for Jaime’s wedding to be over and done with. Brienne knew the media would be all over previous contestants' new relationships – there were already paparazzi shots of Talisa and her new boyfriend all over the internet. Margaery had pulled them up too. 

‘Good morning,’ Sam said, stepping into the house, and smiling at Brienne. ‘I hope all the other women are up? We’ve got a lot to do today.’ 

‘Everyone’s up,’ Brienne said, leading him back towards the living room, ‘but I can’t guarantee that they’ll be much use today. Some of them overindulged last night.’ 

‘As long as they put their best face forward, that’s all we need,’ Sam said. ‘And I’m sure what we’ve got in store for you all today will be just the thing to clear away those cobwebs!’ 

Brienne let him go into the living room before her. They all knew the way things would run this week; Sam would come and fetch them from the house at 10.00am. They’d march over to the den and the F&F they were spending time with would explain what they’d be doing today. All of the F&F had chosen to do trips out, which meant travel on a coach to their destination. Half the day doing the activity, and then back on the coach and home again, ready to do it all again tomorrow. 

Brienne’s earlier predictions were proved correct, when ten minutes later the women stepped into the den, to see Pod waiting for them. He stood right in front of the TV, a grin on his face, hands clasped behind his back. He gave Brienne a small wave, and she waved back, feeling a strong surge of friendliness towards him. This week wasn’t about Jaime. It was about his F&F, and Brienne didn’t need to impress them. She would be friendly because she liked most of them; but disinterested in their activities. There were eight other women, two of who would be glad to thrust themselves into the F&F’s attentions. 

They settled into their usual positions – Sansa, Cersei, and Daenerys on the sofa, Daenerys yanking Missandei down next to her. Ygritte, Yara, and Brienne stood behind, Margaery and Ros joining them. 

‘Before we let the young lad tell you how you’ll be spending your day, I need to inform you about how we’ll be handling the events of last night,’ Petyr Baelish said, breezing into the room behind them, making them all turn their heads to look at him. 

He could have already been in the room. Brienne didn’t for a second believe that he’d been so busy he’d literally just arrived at the house, but no. He’d wanted to make an entrance. 

She stilled her face into a blank expression, but her heartbeat quickened. They didn’t know about her and Jaime meeting. They couldn’t. 

‘As I’m sure you all remember, last night one of the remaining contestants was carried out by a previous lover. He arrived here on horseback, and demanded to be let in. One of you,’ and here Petyr threw a withering glare at Brienne who smiled broadly back at him, ‘helped him into the gardens, where he rode to the centre, and declared his love for Ellaria.’ 

‘Oh, thanks the gods,’ Sansa said, ‘I was worried I’d dreamed that.’ 

‘We’ve been in contact with Miss Sand this morning, and she will not be coming back to the show. We have released a statement saying that she has left, but have given away no details. We’ll wait for the show to air for viewers to see what happened.’ He stared around at them all, his hard black eyes narrowing. ‘I’m sure it doesn’t need to be said, but let me be clear – any more of this nonsense will not be tolerated. We’ve let the incident from last night go, because Miss Sand has made it very clear that she won’t be returning. And, although we have to refund all the viewers that have previously voted for her, the sheer magnitude of what happened should grant us enough press coverage to make up for it.’ 

‘Go big or don’t go home,’ Yara said under her breath. 

‘Now ladies, I’ll leave you in young Podrick’s hands.’ Petyr clapped Pod on the shoulder. ‘Good luck.’ He swept from the room, leaving the ladies alone with Pod and the camera crew. 

‘I’m so glad I didn’t dream that,’ Sansa said once he’d gone. ‘It was so romantic.’ She sighed, a dreamy sound, and Brienne knew she was thinking about Theon. Even with the hangover, Sansa seemed happier today than she had for a while. 

‘And now, to business,’ Ramsay said. He signaled the room to silence, then counted down on his fingers, giving a winding motion, and pointing at Pod when it was time to go. 

‘Ladies, it’s wonderful to see you all again!’ Pod said, grinning around at them all. ‘And I’m so excited to get to spend the whole day with you. This week, we’re the ones setting the tasks for you. It’s been harder than expected; I wanted to do something with you that I’d enjoy, but I also want you to get to know Jaime a little bit more, too.’ He sounded like he’d learned a speech, and Brienne knew it wouldn’t be far from the truth; Pod was a quiet young man, and he’d probably been coached on what to say. 

Brienne didn’t want to get to know Jaime; what was the point? Even if she won – and she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t - they’d be divorced within the day. How would she be able to stay with someone she knew wanted to be with someone else? 

Someone ‘good enough’ for him. 

‘So, today, ladies, we’re going on a walking tour of London. I know, I know,’ Pod said, grinning at the groans that escaped from some of the women. ‘But it’s an historical walking tour. We’re going to see the oldest buildings in London, and hear about their histories. You might not know this but Jaime’s a bit of a history buff. Just for fun, but this is something he’s wanted to do in the past.’ Pod faltered for a second. ‘I had to look into it for his birthday present last year, but then – ah – something cropped up, and he lost interest. So I hope you’ve all got your walking shoes on today! The tour will be around three hours long, and to be honest, I’d bring an umbrella.’ He cast a gaze out the doors leading to the garden, where a strip of sky was just visible. Even in the small time they’d been in the den, the sky had gone from overcast to a dark grey. 

‘Let me check if I have this right,’ Yara said, raising a hand. ‘Today, you’re going to be filming nine hungover women, walking around London in the rain? And Petyr thinks that will make a good show?’ 

‘Well, we can’t control the weather,’ said Sam Tarly who was hiding at the back of the room. ‘And we had to book most of these days in advance, so we can’t cancel them now. It’s not ideal, I’ll grant you, but we’ll make the best with what we have.’ 

They had fifteen minutes to change shoes if they needed to, or put on more weather appropriate clothes. Brienne grabbed a blue quilted padded jacket with a hood from her wardrobe, before making her way to the coach waiting for them outside. 

Having no desire to be stuck with Ros for another journey, she chose the second last row, and slunk down till her legs were stretched out under the chairs in front. Nobody would see her here, hopefully until everyone was already on, and had taken their seats. 

‘Budge up,’ said Margaery as she plopped down in the seat next to Brienne. ‘Eurgh, this is not what I needed today. A walking tour? Around old buildings I’ve spent my life walking past? No thank you.’ 

‘It might not be so bad,’ Brienne said. Margaery turned to face her, eyebrows raised, but the effect was lost slightly by the sunglasses still covering her eyes. She hadn’t been allowed to wear them in the den, but obviously even the grey natural daylight was too much for her. 

‘I forgot you have tons of history books,’ Margaery said. ‘Didn’t you even want to study it in uni, but went for business to please you father?’ 

‘I went for business because it was going to be more beneficial to my future,’ Brienne said. She’d had enough of defending herself back then, and she wasn’t going to do it now. She wanted to take over her father’s company. ‘History has always just been a fun past time.’ 

‘So much fun,’ Margaery said, settling down in her seat, ‘who cares about how people used to live? It’s all about what’s happening now.’ 

‘If you say so,’ Brienne said. She’d fallen in love with history when she was small, reading about knights, and Kings and Queens. She liked the style of the old dresses, and the fancy hairstyles. She liked seeing men battered and bruised on battlefields, fighting for what they believed in, defending the innocent. 

Those stories had given her comfort; people had lived through worse than her dramas. ‘Where’s Sansa?’ Brienne asked. The red head hadn’t made an appearance yet, and the coach was pulling away from the house now. 

‘She’s somewhere at the front,’ Margaery said. ‘She decided to take a nap before we arrive at some creepy old church or wherever we’re going.’ 

‘Didn’t you want to take a nap, too?’ Brienne asked. Margaery had always preferred to sleep off a hangover when she was younger, barely even letting anyone see her with one as she took to her bed for an extra five hours. 

‘I’d love nothing better,’ Margaery said, ‘but I downed three red bulls this morning and there’s so much energy inside me I think I could probably do this three hour walk in twenty minutes.’ 

The ride to the first stop on their destination was quiet. A car honked its’ horn at one point and the women who’d been drinking last night practically rioted at the noise. 

‘We’re here,’ Pod said, standing at the front of the bus. ‘Ladies, after you.’ One by one they made their way off the coach, finding themselves with the River Thames glittering along behind them. 

‘This is actually a historic walking tour you can book to go on,’ Pod said as he left the coach behind them. ‘But we’ve made a few adjustments.’ 

‘You said that Jaime wanted to do this tour?’ Cersei asked. She had to shout to be heard over the rain which was really coming down now. They’d all had microphones attached to them so they could be heard, but Brienne knew they’d be fighting a losing battle. The weather was not in their favour, and it didn’t seem like it would get better any time soon. 

‘Yes,’ Pod said. ‘He saw an advert for it last year and mentioned it to Tyrion. Said it seemed interesting. I was told to book tickets and arrange a day, but then, ah.’ He stopped talking, bowing his head under Cersei’s gaze. ‘He couldn’t find anyone to go with him. Tyrion was on holiday that week, and, well, he didn’t want to go by himself.’ 

There was an older grey-haired man waiting for them. Brienne could vaguely hear Pod telling them that this guy was their tour guide and that they were to follow him. 

She couldn’t hear the tour guide. She couldn’t really see him either, not with the sea of black umbrellas covering their small group; only her height meant she was able to keep track of him, and of everyone else. The tour they were on was terrible; she spent most of the time getting the members of their group back together, when she noticed a cameraman or a contestant going the wrong way, their eyes peering out from their umbrella as they tried to catch sight of the group again. 

Brienne wondered what they looked like from the outside; wondered if they would have been mobbed if it had been a sunny day. Surely a few people would’ve known who they were, and would’ve approached them for pictures and autographs. 

As it was, people were hurrying from place to place, heads down, cursing inside out umbrellas and yelling as cars splashed them. 

The grey sky had turned London into a thing from the past, dark and gloomy, the rain making the streets slick and shiny. They’d walked down medieval alleyways, bumping their umbrellas in the small spaces; at one-point Ygritte almost got her eye poked out when she turned around too quickly. 

They went to a pub, which was crammed with people hiding from the weather, with no room for them and moved on quickly to stand outside St Paul’s Cathedral, where they kept their heads down and pretended they could hear the tour-guide over the rain. They walked over the famous London Bridges, and Brienne found herself running through all the facts she knew about them, making up her own little guide to amuse herself. 

After two and a half hours, they arrived at their last spot, all of them wet, all of them tired, most of them angry. Brienne hadn’t even looked at where they were, just let her feet plop along the pavement, keeping track of the number of umbrellas in front of her. She didn’t even want to think about how the cameramen were doing. They had plastic coverings over them and the cameras, and rolling tripods to push the equipment along with, but there couldn’t be much they’d be able to work with. 

Today had been a total wash out – both literally and figuratively. 

‘The rain’s a little lighter now,’ Ramsay shouted. ‘Put the umbrellas down. Just for the next ten minutes. We need something we can use.’ Brienne hadn’t even realised he’d been one of the cameramen with them. 

There were groans from everyone, but the umbrellas went down. Margaery and Sansa had taken off their sunglasses. All the women’s hair was plastered to their heads, rain drops running down their jackets. 

The only person still smiling was Pod, and even he looked close to tears. 

‘This is the last stop,’ Ramsay said. ‘And then we’ll go and get you all something hot to eat and drink, okay? We’ve got Sam driving to meet us, with a change of clothes for you all. Just ten minutes.’ And, with the look on his face like he’d just been forced to eat sick, Ramsay said ‘please.’ 

‘I know it’s been a long day, ladies,’ said Pod, ‘but this is really a good place to end.’ 

Brienne pulled a smile onto her face, noticing that the other women were doing the same. Pod sounded close to tears; it wasn’t his fault his day had turned to crap. They didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did. 

She tilted her head back, and felt her smile growing bigger and more natural. They’d arrived at one of her favourite buildings in London; The White Tower. 

Most commonly known as part of the Tower of London where the Crown Jewels were now held, Brienne had always loved the tall building. It’s grey bricks and white paint made her feel calmer. When she was little, she’d imagine herself walking between the towers, swanning around in a gown, her hair tumbling around her feet. 

She got over that dream pretty quickly when Gal had caught her once, pretending, and laughed at her. He'd been right though; she wasn’t the princess who needed saving.  
She was the knight who would rescue herself. 

Thinking of knights made her think of Jaime, but she shoved his face to the back of her mind as soon as it entered. She was done with him. And, he was obviously done with her. She’d been a little bit of fun, something to distract himself with while he waited for his wedding. 

The tour guide was speaking again, telling them all the facts about the tower. 

‘Can anyone guess how high the walls are?’ he asked, smiling around at them all with a blank expression. Brienne wondered if he’d been asking questions about all the places they’d been to, waiting for answers that never came because nobody could hear him. 

‘90 feet,’ Brienne called out. She’d read so many books about this place she could probably give the tour herself. 

‘Excellent,’ said the tour guide. ‘And correct. Are you a fan of The White Tower?’ 

‘I am,’ Brienne said. It was a place that made her feel small, which was hard to do. She never felt small anywhere. ‘It’s one of my favourite places.’ 

‘Mine too,’ the tour guide said, smiling. He asked more questions and Brienne answered them all. 

‘Well,’ he said eventually when they’d gone over the entire history and the other women were hiding their yawns behind their hands. ‘That’s everything on today’s tour. I hope you’ve all had a good time.’ 

Nobody responded to that with an answer, and the tour guide walked away, whistling to himself. The contestants turned around, opening their umbrellas, a new energy infecting them now it was over with and there was the promise of hot food and dry clothes. 

‘Shit,’ said Ygritte as they walked away. There was a horrible splashing sound, and Brienne found her lower leg suddenly flecked with dirty rain water. ‘I’ve stepped in a pissing puddle!’ Ygritte said. She pulled her foot up, holding the dripping limb away from her, before she started limping back, her foot squelching with every step. ‘This is a bad time to discover my boots have holes in them.’ 

* 

On the coach back, Brienne found herself next to Pod. All the other women had commandeered two seats each for themselves so they could lie down and nap on the journey home, dry clothes on, and food warming their insides. 

Brienne hadn’t eaten much, and she didn’t feel much like napping. She couldn’t sleep on public transport anyway, fearing what she might do when her defenses were down; did she snore? Did she make weird little mumbles in her sleep? What if she drooled? She knew it was unlikely, but she had an irrational fear that she’d make a fool of herself and end up as a viral picture on the internet that everyone would chuckle at. 

Well, she’d definitely increased her chances of that happening by coming on this show. 

‘Cheer up,’ she said to Pod, nudging him gently. He’d been staring out of the window, into the rain for the whole journey so far. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’ 

‘It was terrible,’ he said, turning to face her. 

‘It wasn’t executed well,’ she said, ‘but that’s not your fault. You can’t control the weather, nobody can. But the idea was a good one. And there were some good moments.’ 

‘Like when we all got trapped in that tiny little alley and one of us almost pitched headfirst into the river once we escaped?’ Pod asked. Only Yara’s quick thinking had saved Sansa. 

‘The pub was pretty cool, what we saw from the outside,’ Brienne said. ‘And anyway it doesn’t matter. Even if it had been the most perfectly thought out day it would still be reduced to a ten-minute segment on Saturday night. No one is going to judge you. And it has to be better than whatever Bronn has come up with.’ 

Pod smiled a little at that. ‘Petyr wouldn’t let him take you all to a strip club,’ he said. ‘He had to be talked down to something much tamer.’ 

‘Thank goodness for that,’ Brienne said, shuddering. She didn’t have anything against strip clubs, she just didn’t want to ever enter one. Even the idea filled her with fear; she wouldn’t have any idea where to look. 

‘Tell me about working for the Lannisters,’ she said. Pod still looked a little sad, and she hated seeing that look on his face, like a kicked puppy. Even though he was in his twenties, she felt like he still needed protecting from all the dangers of the world; and whatever she could do to help protect him, she would. 

‘Why?’ he asked, a wry smile on his face. Brienne was surprised. She didn’t know Pod could do wry. ‘You don’t like them.’ 

Brienne shrugged. ‘I don’t not like them. Tyrion’s been okay to me during the show, and...,’ she had to be careful. From their conversation the other day at the party, she felt like The Hound knew she and Jaime had been meeting; but she wasn’t sure about Pod. It didn’t seem like Jaime was going back to wherever he was staying – because if he was watching the show, he certainly wasn’t staying in the house he was supposed to be in - and telling all his F&F about their evenings together; but then what did she actually know about Jaime? 

Not a lot. She glanced to the side, noticing the blinking red light of Ramsay’s camera trained steadily on her face. She’d already had one outburst on screen; she didn’t really need another. ‘And the more I learn about Jaime, the less he seems like the person I thought he was.’ She swallowed the lie in her throat. ‘Although I still think Tywin’s a dick,’ she added. 

‘He’s not the easiest,’ Pod agreed. ‘I know they don’t have a lot of friends out there,’ he continued, and Brienne settled herself down to hear about his working life. It was nice, with Pod’s voice washing over her, and the pattering of rain on the windows, the quiet snores of the other contestants. The sky was still grey, making it feel like evening rather than midday, and the heating on the coach had been turned up to full. ‘But they have a lot of business partners. They’re involved in everything; movies, business, computers, supermarkets, snack foods, science companies. They seem to have a branch for everything in their head offices. I’ve been there for two years, and I still barely feel like I’ve seen it all. They sponsor all these products and places and then move into that sector. They take over companies that are going wrong and turn them into growing business’s, or dismantle them if that’s for the best. Tywin might not be likable but he’s good at what he does. Including pissing people off.’ 

‘Yeah, he’s really good at that.’ She hadn’t even met the man, and she hated him. 

‘But that’s the thing,’ Pod said, a light coming into his dark eyes, ‘people hate him and yet they're still queuing up to work with him. Coming back to him time and time again because they know that he gets results.’ 

‘I suppose,’ Brienne said. She’d never really thought about it like that, but Pod had a point. To get the Lannister business to where it was – one of the biggest companies in the UK – and to stay there for years meant he was doing something right. 

‘He might not be the easiest person, but I’m learning a lot just watching him,’ Pod said. 

‘Do you get to spend a lot of time with him?’ Brienne asked. 

‘Not that much,’ Pod said. ‘He doesn’t come to Mr Lannister’s office that much; avoids it as much as he can, truth be told, but that’s alright, Mr Lannister prefers being left to do his own thing anyway.’ 

Brienne frowned. Jaime was supposed to be the heir to the Lannister business; surely Tywin should be in there all the time, teaching his son how to do his job? She knew from her last conversation with Jaime that Tywin had his doubts about his eldest; but he did show him some stuff, surely? 

‘You’ve been there two years, did you say?’ Brienne asked, even though she knew she was correct. 

‘Just over,’ he confirmed. ‘Mr Lannister said he was finding it hard to keep an assistant; he wanted someone who would do things his way, no questions asked. Also, someone who wouldn’t judge his weekend choices, no questions asked. Or the guests he sometimes saw in and out of his office, no questions asked.’ Pod was full on grinning now, talking about his boss. 

Something didn’t add up. Yes, Jaime probably wanted someone who wouldn’t question his decisions; wanted someone who didn’t care that he was a killer; and, if rumours were to be believed, someone who wouldn’t care if he was still in touch with the gang he’d been linked to, and could still be seeing. But it didn’t sound like Jaime at all. Gang members and drug dealers and all the others he’d been linked to shouldn’t have made Pod grin. 

‘And you do all that do you?’ Brienne asked. 

‘Ah, you know me,’ Pod said. ‘I’m just happy to do what I’m told.’ 

‘Didn’t you feel any qualms about applying for a job where you’d be asked for work for a killer?’ Brienne asked, then wondered why; she’d gotten over it. Pretty quickly, in fact. 

But she was pretty sure Pod hadn’t been crushing on Jaime Lannister. She was loathe to admit it, but Brienne never shied away from anything; not from herself anyway. She’d rather work for Tywin Lannister for the rest of her life than admit to anyone that she had a crush on his son, but she couldn’t hide it from herself; no matter how much she’d like to. 

‘Well,’ Pod said, turning back to the window, ‘it was when Jaime first started back at the company. So, I was given more orders by his brother and his father, because he wasn’t really up to anything much. He put a good face on, but he stayed locked behind his office door most days. And I needed a job. And it’s fine.’ He turned to face her again. ‘He’s really not as bad as he’s made out. He has the odd moment or two, but who doesn’t? And he’s never been violent with me, or anyone in the company. I’m pretty friendly with everyone there, and no one has a bad word to say about him. Unless they fuck something up. Then he gets a little bit mad, but he talks it through with them, and usually manages to sort everything out.’ 

‘You make it sound like he’s not that bad a person,’ said Brienne, wondering. Had she been a little too harsh to judge Jaime, for wanting Cersei? Stories were stories after all; and could she really blame the man for wanting to end up with someone who he was friendly with? She’d told Jaime before that none of the women wanted to marry him, herself included; and had she really done anything to change his mind? 

Her split-second fantasies about Jaime’s disgusted face when he saw her on the wedding day were horrible; but now she wondered if maybe Jaime had the same ones. About the curtain dropping, and his bride on the other side, either crying with unhappiness or her face set as she went through with a marriage that everyone knew would be over before it even started. 

Cersei had never been bothered by what Jaime had done. Could Brienne really blame him for wanting that? For wanting the one person who didn’t care about his past, against eight others who did? 

‘He’s really not,’ Pod said. ‘Everyone thinks they know him; but they don’t. Not really. They know one thing about him, and it eclipses everything else.’ 

Brienne, who’d grown up with her looks overshadowing everything else about her felt a tightness in her throat. She’d never thought about it that way before. 

She looked back at Pod. He really was one of the best people she’d ever known; she liked to think of herself as good and kind, but here Pod was, shoving her prejudices and assumptions back in her face. 

‘You know what Pod?’ she said. ‘You might be onto something.’ 

* 

Brienne woke up on Tuesday morning feeling better than she had for a while. It was amazing what an early night could do for you, and she’d had one of those. Most of the remaining contestants had gone to bed early, after a hot shower. Brienne had looked at her helmet, sitting on her chest of drawers for one minute, before she’d pulled her PJs on and got into bed. 

She might understand where Jaime was coming from a bit better, but that didn’t mean that she needed to see him. Now she’d admitted her feelings for him, she didn’t want to put herself in his company. She’d get over it – over him – in time, but for now, she needed a breather. 

It was easier said than done when she was competing in a contest to win him as a husband. When the ladies entered the den that morning, it was to find Tyrion and Bronn standing in front of a TV, with a cardboard cut-out of Jaime next to them. 

‘That’s subtle,’ Yara said, as she took a seat on the sofa next to Sansa. Brienne took her place behind it, only Margaery joining her today. 

‘Well, we thought you should get to know the man a little more,’ Tyrion said, grinning around at them all. ‘I had this from a party we threw for Jaime, seven years ago and thought he could be fun to get out again. You can keep him after this, put him in the kitchen if you wish.’ 

‘Always so thoughtful,’ said Sansa. ‘Did I mention we were thinking of having a bonfire this week? We need something to get the fire started.’ 

‘A little harsh,’ Tyrion said. He seemed surprised, as if he’d thought that Sansa’s continued presence in this contest meant she had thawed somewhat towards his brother. 

‘I remember Jaime coming to our house for dinner and charming my parents,’ Sansa said, staring at the fake Jaime. ‘He told them all about how he was hoping to buy some – some – shares in their company. That he had some ideas he wanted to run past them, but would be okay if they didn’t want to hear them – it was their company after all. But he was looking to branch out, and away from Tywin. That was two weeks before they learned he’d brought all the other shares from their partners and now owned more of the company than they did. Four weeks before all the staff received letters saying the company was being dismantled and they had two months to find another job.’ 

‘Acting on my father’s orders, I’m sure,’ Tyrion said quietly, staring at Sansa. ‘I assure you he would have hated every second of it.’ 

‘He played the part incredibly well then,’ Sansa said. ‘When my father confronted him about it, Jaime didn’t even care. Told him it was all part of business and my father shouldn’t have got into it if he wasn’t cut out for that world, and that it was probably a good thing it had happened now because my parents were obviously naive if they believed that a Lannister ever had good intentions.’ 

‘I assure you if I had known anything about it, I would have done everything in my power to put a stop to it,’ Tyrion said. 

‘We weren’t talking about you,’ Sansa said. She was sitting ramrod straight on the sofa, her legs together. Her hair was pulled back in plait, but there was nothing childish about her today; everything else was all sharp lines and pressed points, even down to her smart black heels. 

Sansa’s tactics had changed again, it would seem. 

‘We weren’t supposed to be talking about any of this,’ Cersei piped up. ‘We’re supposed to be here to learn about what Tyrion and Bronn have in store for us today.’ 

‘He told me burning a cut-out of his brother was harsh, and I wanted to prove it wasn’t,’ Sansa said. 

‘Do you honestly think it matters?’ Cersei said. Everyone else in the room was quiet, and though Brienne was dying to jump in and defend Sansa, Sansa didn’t need anybody’s help. She’d been holding onto these thoughts and feelings since finding out Jaime was the suitor and she needed them to be heard. ‘Nobody cares, Sansa. All this happened, what, at least fifteen years ago? Thirteen? Something like that anyway. You’re being kept in this contest because the viewers want to see you implode at Tywin later this week, which I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to grant them. But being a sarcastic little bitch and talking about how you’d like to burn Jaime isn’t going to achieve anything. Petyr won’t play it to the public, and all it’s doing is making everyone here bored. You hate Jaime – we get it. You don’t need to remind us every day.’ 

Sana’s usual pale cheeks were blazing a bright red, and Brienne’s hand had curled into a fist on the sofa. 

‘I don’t -,’ Sansa began, but was cut off by Cersei. 

‘I’m bored,’ the blonde announced to the room. ‘Shouldn’t we be filming?’ she added, addressing Ramsay who was at the side, camera trained on the middle of the room. ‘I thought it was a tight schedule.’ 

‘It is,’ he said. 

‘Well, that settles it,’ Cersei said like she was suddenly in charge. ‘And anyway, Sansa, you really should have seen this coming. Don’t tell me you thought Petyr wanted you on this show because of his feelings for you and your mother? You know Petyr almost better than anyone – you should have realised that his craving for ratings beats out any other speck of emotion his cold dead hearts occasionally flickers with. And nobody is making you stay.’ 

‘I don’t have a choice,’ Sansa said. ‘He has something on me -,’ 

‘Does he?’ Cersei asked. She wasn’t even looking at Sansa, instead studying her manicured hands. ‘Something so powerful it could bring your entire family to its knees for the rest of your lives? Something that would mean none of you could show your faces in public again? Something that would cripple you all so much it would be difficult to go on?’ 

‘It would hurt a lot of people,’ Sansa said. 

‘And then they’d get over it,’ Cersei said simply. ‘Time heals all wounds and all that gibberish. Secrets always find their way out in the end, anyway. And whoever you’re protecting - because I know it’s not your secret, otherwise you would have walked by now -, do you think they’d do the same for you?’ 

‘Yes,’ Sansa said. ‘And you don’t know it’s not my secret. You couldn’t possibly.’ 

‘She does,’ Brienne said, against her will. All heads turned to look at her. ‘Because Cersei is the opposite. She’d stay only if someone had something on her, and everyone else could fend for themselves. She knows you’re not like that – that you’d only stay to protect someone else.’ 

Green eyes met hers, and for a second Brienne was transported back to The Bear Pit, looking across a table at Jaime. Ceresi’s eyes were the same shape and size and colour as his, and it was disconcerting to say the least. 

‘Well, you’d know all about people keeping secrets, wouldn’t you, Miss Tarth?’ Cersei asked. 

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Brienne said, even though she knew her cheeks were colouring. Had Cersei found out about her meetings with Jaime? Was she going to tell everyone, right here, right now, making everyone else turn against her? 

‘You might be great at sussing people out, but I know when they have something to hide,’ Cersei said. ‘And you’ve been hiding something since you got here. Why else are you so sparse on details about your life?’ 

‘I’m a private person,’ Brienne said. 

‘Yes,’ Cersei said, turning back to face the front. ‘But why?’ 

Brienne opened her mouth again, but Ramsay, who had clearly had enough marched into the middle of the room, a thunderous look on his face. 

‘Enough,’ he said, his voice like a whip, cutting through the room. ‘I don’t care who likes who, and who wants to burn who alive or what secrets any of you are hiding; my job is to make a show I can put out to millions of viewers on Saturday night, and I won’t have a bunch of self-important try hards ruining it for me. Understand?’ He looked at them all, one by one, getting their nod of agreement. 

Brienne could still feel her blood bubbling under her skin. She’d thought she’d been found out. 

And what would she have done if she had been? She’d stumble over her excuses and Sansa would be able to tell straight away about her feelings for Jaime. And what would she think? She’d be hurt, and horrified. Probably even disgusted that Brienne could be charmed so easily by someone with such a bad reputation. 

‘Welcome ladies!’ said Tyrion suddenly, clapping his hands together, and grinning around the room at them all. The filming was to go ahead as normal, the cameras not showing the tension in the room. 

It was a good job they were all so brilliant at acting, Brienne thought. ‘Now, I know you’re all wondering why you have not one, but two handsome fellas here with you today, when you thought there would be only one,’ Tyrion said. ‘But we’ve decided to combine mine and Bronn’s together, so that on Friday we can all sit down as one big group and have a nice meal – get to know each other a little more informally. Doesn’t that sound good?’ 

There were muted murmurs of agreement, and a few stiff nods. Ramsay sighed so loudly, they all knew they’d be asked to redo it; and then an excited chatter broke out between them all, Ygritte turning to Brienne and Margaery at the back and carrying the conversation. 

‘Today, we’ll be going wine tasting – that's my choice,’ Tyrion said, ‘and we’ll spend the evening in a pub.’ 

‘That was mine,’ Bronn said. 

‘Shocking,’ Yara spoke up. ‘But a pub? Just us all at a table, having a conversation? Do we really think that’s going to go well?’ 

‘Ah, but we won’t just be chatting,’ Bronn said. ‘To spice things up, we’ll also be taking part in a quiz. One team of four, and two teams of three, so get your requests in now, ladies.’ He flexed his muscles, and Ros laughed loudly enough for everyone. ‘The lucky winners will get to take this lovely present back to their rooms tonight,’ he said, reaching out and bringing cardboard Jaime into the camera view. ‘Get you used to being with the real thing.’ 

‘It’s so lifelike,’ Daenerys said, standing up and approaching to get a better view. ‘And I assume you went to a lot of trouble to make sure it was all correct?’ She let her eyes slide down, and Brienne followed her gaze, finding herself amused despite herself. Someone had forced a pair of tiny white underpants on over Jaime’s legs, and stuffed what Brienne assumed to be a tiny sock down the front. 

‘Of course, I did,’ Bronn said. ‘Couldn’t have any of you having a surprise on the wedding night could we now?’ He winked at them all, and even with the tension in the room, even with pale cheeks still tinged pink, all the women found themselves smiling back. 

* 

‘They really wanted to show off the Lannisters wealth, didn’t they?’ Yara said. The women were crowded onto the narrow street, staring up at the tall building before them. The weak sun reflected off the all glass building, making it hard to look for more than a couple of seconds without hurting your eyes. Brienne didn’t like to think what it must be like to work here – sure, glass building looked cool, but in hot weather they made you sweat like a boxer in the ring. 

Ygritte gave a low whistle, then looked down at herself. 

‘Do you think they’ll let in, dressed like this? I thought a wine tasting and a pub quiz would be a more casual affair,’ she said. Most of the women were in jeans, with the notable exceptions of Margaery, Sansa and Cersei. 

‘You’re with me, my darling,’ Tyrion said, appearing next to Ygritte. ‘You could be in a binbag and they’d have to let you in.’ 

‘To be fair,’ Ygritte said, following Tyrion up the stone steps leading into the building, ‘I would look amazing in a bin bag.’ 

In groups of four, the contestants, cameraman and Tyrion and Bronn were led over a plush carpet to a silent lift. There were taken to the top floor, where as soon as you stepped into the room, London stretched out on all sides of you. There were some of the buildings they’d stood in front of yesterday, and the glittering Thames ran along beneath them. 

Ygritte ran to the window, so she could press her face against the glass, as did Daenerys who was squealing with delight. As places went, it was pretty impressive. All chrome and black tables and chairs, there was a discreet bar and kitchen area tucked away from the dining area. 

They were all sat at a long table in the middle of the room. Waiters hovered around them, nervously eyeing up the trailing leads of the cameras and lighting equipment. 

The tension from this morning hadn’t left their little group. This wasn’t the kind of place were dirty jokes could paper over bad feelings or where casual conversation could sound anything less than stilted and forced. Most of the women did business dealings in places like this every few months, but charm and flattery wouldn’t get them far today. 

‘We’ll be sampling two champagnes, three whites and two reds this morning,’ Tyrion announced. ‘I hope you can all hold your drink.’ He smiled around at all of them. ‘There will be a selection of small nibbles for those who can’t just in case.’ 

‘It’s a gorgeous place,’ Ygritte said. She‘d chosen to sit facing the river, but couldn’t stop turning around every minute to see the view behind her. ‘I’ve never been anywhere this fancy before.’ 

‘Well you absolutely must come back some time afterwards,’ Tyrion said as Ramsay signaled to everyone they were ready to start with the tastings. The waiters melted away, no doubt to bring back glasses of wine that cost more than the outfit Brienne was currently wearing. ‘They do a marvelous lunch. Me and Jaime come here often, just to sit and stare at the view.’ 

‘Oh no, this isn’t the place for me,’ Ygritte said, giving a hearty chuckle. ‘I love being here, but I wouldn’t come here again. It would ruin the magic of a once in a lifetime experience if I repeated it.’ 

‘Is that so?’ Bronn asked. He leaned back in his chair, and if Ygritte felt like she didn’t fit in, then Bronn certainly didn’t. His hair was greasy, and his leather jacket had holes inside, which weren’t there for design. He’d already been shot a disgusted look by the head waiter after his boots had left a clump of mud on the pale carpet when they first entered. 

‘Don’t get me wrong, I’ll enjoy today,’ Ygritte said. Tiny plates of food were being placed down the middle of the table now, each featuring even tinier versions of proper food. ‘But this isn’t my world. I’m more at home on hiking trails, or adventure holidays. A little bit more rough and ready than this fancy stuff,’ she said. 

‘Me too,’ Missandei said. ‘Not the adventure holidays – give me a nice beach any day – but this; this isn’t for me.’ She stared at the half full champagne glass that had been placed on her left side fearfully. ‘How much does all this cost?’ 

Tyrion laughed. ‘Don’t worry about that; that’s for me and Petyr to worry about. Just enjoy it.’ He tipped his glass to them, toasting them all, before taking a small sip and smacking his lips together. ‘Don’t let it get too warm ladies; this is best enjoyed chilled.’ 

Brienne sipped hers, feeling the bubbles travel up her nose. She tuned out the waiter standing at the head of the table, who was holding the bottle wrapped in a cloth and telling them all about it; the flavours, the name, what region of France it came from. 

Not really being a drinker, Brienne had never gone in for wine. It still baffled her that people would willingly drop hundreds of thousands on cases, to let them sit in a dark basement, only opening them for ‘special occasions’ or as an investment. 

Daenerys engaged Tyrion in conversation about the drinks, blushing when she admitted that she was a little bit of a snob when it came to wine; something her father had passed onto her. Her mother hadn’t liked that her father had let the kids have a small glass whenever they visited him, but he’d been insistent on starting them young. 

It was no surprise that Cersei was the most knowledgeable out of all of them. She was a collector, bottles stashed in her kitchen in a specially built cupboard. Margaery could hold her own within the conversation but she was happy to let the others do most of the talking. 

Brienne, Yara and Sansa sat silently. Yara was swilling the liquid around in her mouth, but told everyone that she couldn’t taste what they were all talking about; her palette must not be as refined as theirs. Sansa had admitted she knew nothing about wine and didn’t want to show herself up; and Brienne because she didn’t care. Wine was wine. Yes, some tasted a little better than others, but when choosing she’d always rather go for a bottle with a pretty label than because some magazine had rated it five stars or because it was only released once a year and therefore must be special. 

The small plates of food were replaced with each new glass, the range completing the wines they were trying; small slivers of fish for one; barely cooked curls of beef for another; and the last glass of red came with mini dark chocolate cakes. Voices were lulled a little now, everyone a little sleepier five glasses of wine down. Only two more to go. 

‘This is usually a more condensed event,’ Tyrion explained as the second glass of red came out. ‘Only two whites, two reds, and one champagne, but we got them to add some extras in. Really make a day of it.’ Him and Bronn seemed to be faring better than any of the women, except perhaps Cersei; she still looked like she’d done nothing but drink water. Her words weren’t slurred, and she wasn’t almost falling asleep on the table. 

Brienne reached a hand out for her glass; she was doing okay, considering. She hadn’t been drinking all of the glasses, leaving a couple of inches or so at the bottom. The more she drunk, the more the wine started tasting of nothing more than alcohol; none of this blackberries and oak she was supposed to be getting. 

‘Brienne,’ Sansa said, suddenly grabbing her arm, and almost jogging her drink from her hand. ‘Do you know what this is?’ Sansa had already tasted her wine. She was drinking hers quickly than the rest, probably hoping it would get this part over with quicker. 

‘No,’ Brienne said. 

‘It’s the wine you had at your 21st!’ Sansa looked at her half empty glass approvingly. ‘I haven’t forgotten what it tasted like, but I never thought I’d have it again.’ She sighed dreamily. 

Brienne took a cautious sip, surprised that Sansa was right. They had served this wine at her 21st. Some business partners of her father’s had sent him a bottle the previous month, and Selwyn had fallen in love with it, ordering more than a few cases for his daughter’s birthday party later that month. 

‘You had this at your 21st?’ Tyrion asked, switching his attention to their end of the table. ‘Just the one bottle?’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said. ‘There were a few cases open that evening.’ 

‘Really?’ Tyrion said. 

Brienne shrugged, sipping her drink again, her 21st swirling to the front of her mind. ‘My father insisted on throwing me a party, which he knew I’d hate so he went to the trouble of stocking it with things I’d like. He’d been brought a bottle of this wine a few weeks before, and when I tried a glass, I said it was really nice.’ It was nice, even all these years later. Not too bitter, or too heavy for a red. ‘But there was a lot of wine open that evening, and when me and Sansa tried to find out what one it was, we couldn’t find anything to match it to. I’d never really seen the bottle or the label – too busy greeting guests – and my father had moved on to another wine and couldn’t remember the name of this one.’ 

‘Your father ordered cases of this wine for your 21st birthday?’ Tyrion asked, slowly. 

‘Did you not hear her?’ Sansa said. ‘What’s the big deal?’ 

‘The big deal,’ Tyrion said, his gaze never leaving Brienne, ‘is that one bottle of this wine costs £800.’ 

Yara almost spat out the mouthful of wine she’d just taken, and had to be thumped on the back by Ygritte. She wiped the dark red liquid that had dribbled down her chin off with her hand, then stared at Tyrion. 

‘£800 for a bottle of wine?’ she said. ‘Are you kidding me?’ 

‘I never joke about wine,’ Tyrion said. 

‘Brilliant,’ Yara said. ‘I’ve just drunk more money than some of our employees at the parks earn in a month.’ She pushed the half full glass away like it had suddenly turned to piss. 

‘And you said you liked this wine, did you Brienne?’ Tyrion asked, putting the attention on her again. 

‘It’s one of the best I’ve tried,’ she said. 

‘Did you know,’ Tyrion said, and there were other questions lurking in his eyes, questions Brienne knew she’d have to answer later, ‘that this is Jaime’s favourite wine in all the world? He’s not mad about the wine world, I will admit, but he quite happily comes along with me to auctions, or tastings, to sample, and he’s tried a very broad range. Nothing has ever beat this.’ He tapped the glass with his finger. 

‘Well,’ Brienne said, staring down at the table, and trying to ignore Cersei’s eyes which were burning into the side of her head. ‘Then your brother has good taste.’ She raised her still full glass in a toast, then downed the rest of the glass, hoping her cheeks were not the same colour as the wine. 

* 

‘So, cases of £800 bottles of wine.’ They’d been taken to the pub in which they were to do the quiz in. Brienne had popped outside for a breath of fresh air, claiming that their day drinking had gone to her head. 

She wasn’t lying. Her vision was a little blurry, and she’d misplaced her footing when getting off the coach; only Ygritte’s quick thinking had saved her from face planting the pavement. ‘A motorbike which I know you paid over the odds for. And Cersei seems to think you have a secret.’ Tyrion was behind her, and she turned around to face him. He was leaning against the door into the pub, studying her. His dark blonde hair was curled down just above his shoulders, and his head was titled back to look at her. 

She sat on the end of one of the benches in the garden, so they’d be closer to the same height. 

‘What are you expecting me to tell you?’ she asked. There were no cameras out here with them, and neither of them had been fitted with a mic yet. 

‘At this point I don’t think anything would surprise me,’ Tyrion said as he clambered up onto the bench next to her. ‘You’re the most wanted drug dealer in the world, but you’ve been avoiding capture for years, and you’re flaunting it in the police’s faces. Your father inherited an oil company and is one of the richest men in the world. You’re the lost Princess Anastasia's great-great-great-great granddaughter.’ He frowned. ‘Maybe a few more greats.’ 

‘Tyrion, you’ve known me for years. Do you really think I’m a drug dealer or royalty?’ His ideas were ridiculous and she could see from the grudging smirk on his face that he thought so too. 

‘You’re far too nice to be a drug dealer,’ he said. ‘And far too unrefined to be royalty – I don’t mean it in a bad way. You’re like a diamond that’s just been left a little unpolished.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Brienne said, unsure if it was a compliment or not. 

‘A few weeks ago, you were just Brienne Tarth. You’ve always been there – hanging out with the Starks, and then the Tyrell’s. You and Renly together looking unhappy at the side of parties while the grown ups chatted. You had a dry sense of humour and were fun to wind up. But I never really thought about you, or how you knew these people.’ 

‘My father has a business that started at the same time as the Starks,’ Brienne explained. ‘They became friends, and we’ve been close ever since.’ 

‘Yes, which means your father must be someone. And yet, I can’t think of a single person who could be related to you. Isn’t that strange?’ 

‘My father has changed over the years,’ Brienne said slowly. She knew Tyrion was going to find out eventually, and she didn’t mind if he found out now. But something was holding her back from telling him everything. ‘He used to be loud, and he was always joking. He had a small business. But then my brother died.’ She swallowed. ‘My father retreated into himself, and when he was finally ready to come back into the world it was because he’d created a new baby – a new business - that gave him life. It took off, and things were so hectic he couldn’t get to parties so much any more – and when he did go, he was quiet, and stuck to the back, or sent me once I was old enough. Then my mother got ill, and he let others take the helm for a while so he could be with her. When she passed, he threw himself even more into his new business. He spends a lot of time overseas now, trying to build his brand there.’ 

She wondered why Tyrion hadn’t just asked around about her – a few phone calls to his Dad’s old business partners, and they’d know straight away who she was. 

But maybe the new generation didn’t know either. The sons and daughters of those business partners had just accepted Brienne as one of the group, the same as Tyrion always had. 

‘And anyway,’ she said, ‘you can’t really talk to me about keeping secrets.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ Tyrion asked, stiffening. ‘I’m an open book.’ 

‘How long has Jaime been back at work?’ Brienne asked. Tyrion gave her a weird look, but answered. 

‘A year. Full time anyway. For three months before that he’d come in just for the morning, or a meeting. What does that have to do with anything?’ 

‘I just find it interesting,’ Brienne said, her half-formed suspicions now confirmed, ‘that if Jaime’s only been back for a year, how has Pod been his assistant for two?’ Tyrion relaxed slightly, but he was still eyeing her wearily. ‘Pod’s not Jaime’s assistant, is he?’ 

‘No,’ Tyrion said. ‘He’s mine. And a damn fine one too, I should add. But we needed someone to make up the numbers, and Pod’s always so eager to help.’ 

‘Doesn’t Jaime have an actual assistant?’ Brienne asked. 

‘We use temps for him,’ Tyrion said. ‘Some of them leave once they know who they’ll be working for. Some of them are fired after they try to get him into bed. Most of them he decides aren’t supposed to be assistants and he promotes them onto bigger and better things – but don’t tell anyone that. He doesn’t tell them it’s his small influence that gives them a shove in the door.’ 

‘And The Hound?’ Brienne asked. ‘Actual friend, or something else?’ 

Tyrion sighed. ‘There’s no fooling you is there?’ Brienne shrugged, and wondered if this was what it felt like to be Margaery; knowing everything. ‘The Hound used to be my bodyguard. My father received some threats about my safety years ago and it made him nervous. He hired The Hound for a year, before letting him go; but I liked having him around. I’m not so good in a fight. So I kept him on, and we became friends. When Jaime told me of his plan to take part in this show, I knew it would be stupid to come in with no back up. So, currently The Hound is Jaime’s bodyguard if you will.’ 

Which would explain why The Hound knew Jaime and Brienne had been meeting; he’d followed him on his nights out to make sure he didn’t get into trouble. 

‘Is that everything?’ Tyrion asked lightly. ‘Or are there any more secrets you’d like me to admit?’ 

‘That’s everything,’ Brienne said. She didn’t want to push him too far; after all, she had secrets too, and some of those she didn’t want to come out. Ever. 

Ramsay appeared at the window, rapping on the glass smartly and gesturing for them to get themselves back inside. Brienne was looking forward to the day she would finally be rid of him, and then felt a lurch in her stomach that it could be as soon as Saturday. 

‘What?’ she asked, noticing Tyrion was still staring at her as she stood. 

‘You’re very interesting, Brienne Tarth,’ Tyrion said, as he slipped onto the grass and walked towards the pub. ‘You have my brother’s old bike; you like history and his favourite red wine; you can hold your own in a fight; and I believe anyone would find it difficult to pull the wool over your eyes for long.’ He stared at her for another moment, before sighing. ‘In any other world who knows?’ He pulled the door open for her, and she crossed to the table she was to spend the evening at, wondering what his last words could possibly have meant. 

* 

The quiz had ended quite late last night, and with all the wine still in her system, Brienne had been grateful to fall straight into her bed and asleep. Her team had consisted of Margaery, Sansa, and surprisingly Cersei who had deemed them ‘the lesser of the evils’, and they’d come a respectable seventh out of twenty-three. Ros, Yara, Ygritte and Bronn had stopped concentrating so much half way through, choosing to focus more on drinking, and had written ‘fuck knows’ for more than one of their answers. They’d come twenty-third. 

Missandei, Daenerys and Tyrion had won the entire thing. Missandei, who spoke seven languages and had spent her entire life meeting people from all over the world dominated the geography round, earning their team a perfect score, which had even impressed the quiz master. 

This morning, it was The Hound waiting for them in the den, and Brienne felt a little pocket of tension leave her, then come back doubled. They didn’t have to deal with Tywin today; but that meant he would be here for them tomorrow. 

‘Right,’ said The Hound when they’d all settled into place. ‘Tonight, it’s my turn. We’re going for dinner. There’s a medieval restaurant that looks good.’ He stopped, staring at them all. 

‘That’s it?’ Cersei asked. ‘No more details?’ 

‘What more do you need?’ The Hound growled. ‘It’s a restaurant. There’ll be food.’ He paused. ‘And costumes. They provide you with costumes so you can immerse yourself in the experience.’ 

Brienne felt a deep dread run through her. Clothes provided by other people were always the worst. There would be nothing there to fit her, unless she wanted to show her thighs off to everyone, and she didn’t. The shirts would be too small. Everything would be too small. 

‘You can sit and eat your food and watch the entertainment,’ The Hound added. 

‘What entertainment?’ Margaery asked. 

‘There’s some form of jousting,’ The Hound said. ‘Two bucking bulls close together, and you have to cling on and fight the other person with a plastic sword. There’s an archery contest. Jesters – you know that kind of thing.’ 

‘Sounds delightful,’ said Cersei, rolling her eyes, and Joffrey who was back in her lap gave a bark of agreement. 

‘Well, Jaime liked it the one time we went,’ The Hound said. ‘Said it was one of the best experiences of his life. Thought it would be a good idea to do again with you lot, too.’ 

‘Jaime’s been before?’ Daenerys asked. ‘To the same one?’ 

‘Aye,’ said The Hound. ‘And he really got into it. Took part in the jousting, and the drinking. Pod said he took you on a walking tour of historic London buildings – didn't he tell you Jaime loves all this kind of stuff? Knights and the rest?’ 

‘I think we might have been able to guess that,’ Ygritte said. ‘What with his prized possession being a sword.’ 

‘Right,’ said The Hound. ‘That’s all there is too it. I’ll meet you at the place at 7pm tonight.’ He left the room then, not bothering to say bye, and the women looked at each other. That had been the shortest introduction by far. 

‘So,’ Yara said, facing them all and pulling her mouth to the side. ‘Another night of drinking. Do you think Petyr’s run out of ideas and is just hoping to get us all drunk enough to make a fool of ourselves?’ 

Brienne felt herself blushing; the one time she had got drunk during this contest she had made a fool of herself; although luckily Jaime had been the only one around to see that. 

‘Hoping?’ Margaery said. ‘You do remember you and Ros tried to start a conga line on the bar last night? Like actually on the bar? Ramsay had to pull you down from the bar stool after you almost hurt herself trying to jump up.’ 

‘I did wonder why my ankle was feeling a little sore this morning,’ Yara said, not seeming bothered in the slightest. ‘And so what? I’m here for a good time, not to impress people.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ Sansa said. She stood, and they all followed her out of the den, back into the house, still chatting. They had the whole day to themselves. When Cersei, Ros, Daenerys and Missandei had melted away back to their rooms, Sansa said ‘do you want to come to mine? I can update you all about the latest between me and Theon? We’ve been texting so much!’ 

‘I’m good,’ Yara said, backing away. ‘I’m going to make an early lunch and pig out in front of the TV. You can all come join me when you’ve finished talking about my brother.’ She left, and the rest of them headed for Sansa’s room. 

‘Theon is the one who’s persuaded me that just moping around isn’t going to get me anywhere. He says he’s been like that his whole life and it was only when he pushed back that he started to get what he wanted. He says he’s been watching the show, and I’m just coming across as a pretty face.’ She smiled as she told them. ‘But that I should show the public I’m mad about this situation. And not just with petty comments now and then. Show them I don’t want to be here.’ 

‘Smart guy,’ Brienne said. It was a habit now to wonder about why the public had voted for each of the women; because they seemed a good fit for Jaime? Because they were well liked? Because Petyr was fixing his own show? All the options had run through her head. 

‘He is, he’s so much smarter than everyone gives him credit for,’ Sansa said, flopping down onto her bed. Brienne settled onto the floor, pulling her legs up to her chin, Margaery took a perch on the end of the bed, and Ygritte sat next to Sansa, legs crossed, hair falling across her face. ‘He doesn’t want to be in charge of the waterparks, and he knows that Yara was born for it; she loves those parks. He does too, but they’re not his world. He knows she deserves it too, but his dad is so old fashioned he believes the son should take over.’ She rolled her eyes, even though it was common knowledge in the Stark household that had their company still been going her older brother Robb would have taken over. ‘So he pretends to be a layabout, doing nothing so his father has no choice but to give the parks to Yara. He’s going to help her of course, but she’s a boss; and he’s an employee.’ She shrugged. ‘He still needs a little bit of work, but I’m confident we’ll get there. We’re going to go on a proper date once I leave here on Saturday.’ She picked up one of her pillows and hugged it to herself. 

‘How do you know you’re going on Saturday?’ Ygritte asked. ‘Got a crystal ball the rest of us don’t know about?’ 

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Sansa said, looking at Ygritte like she was silly not to have worked out her genius plan. ‘I’ve asked Pod, Tyrion, Bronn and The Hound to get rid of me on Saturday. One of them is bound to take me up on it.’ 

* 

The medieval feast building was fantastic. Coloured drapes hung from around the ceiling, and fake flames flickered in brackets around the walls. Men in brightly coloured jackets and pointy hats walked past their table constantly, juggling with balls and winking at them all as they pretended to drop them. There were women doing cartwheels in the middle of the floor, and a round man with a beard laughing loudly from the ‘royal table’ and issuing challenges to the people feasting. 

Their group was sat at a long table, high up, staring down at the circular space in the middle of the room where the acts were performing. Soon the space would be open to the guests who had been asked to show off their best talents. 

Brienne knew everyone was expecting them all to perform, and every time she thought about it, a cold sweat broke out. She couldn’t juggle, or play the lute, or do archery. 

And, as soon as she got up, everyone was going to see her. She felt the urge to rip the stupid costume she was in off once again, but gripped her fork tightly and tried not to gorge the handle into the soft wood of the table top instead. 

She’d known it would happen; that they’d have nothing for her. The other women were all in pretty dresses that flowed to the floor with corsets laced up till their chests were under their chin, their long hair left loose down their back. 

Brienne had been forced into a hideous pink dress that barely swept her ankles. It looked like an old granny’s nightie, with a V shaped neck covered with a mattered light brown fur. According to the people who ran the costume hire, it was the only thing that would fit her from the ladies section, and she hadn’t had chance to protest; Ramsay had been yelling at them to get a move on so they could set up the cameras. 

It wasn’t enough that all the other diners were staring at their group, wondering about the cameras, their faces either pinching together with disgust or amusement when they realised why they were being filmed. 

‘Another!’ exclaimed The Hound, slamming his empty tankard of ale down on the table. A serving wench who’d been leaning against the back wall, waiting for this very moment, came over giggling with her jug, learning so far under The Hound’s nose Brienne was surprised he didn’t just fall in to her cleavage. ‘I do have excellent ideas,’ he said as the wench left. ‘And you have to admit this beats a rainy walking tour, or a wine tasting, or a quiz.’ He held his arms out to encompass the room. 

‘You’re right,’ Brienne said, staring down at her costume. ‘I’m having a great time.’ The Hound had been fitted with a pair of distressed trousers made to look old fashioned, and fake chain mail armour. 

‘Ah, cheer up,’ The Hound said, and Brienne would have raised an eyebrow if she could have; The Hound telling her to cheer up was like a sloth telling another animal to speed up. ‘We’ll get onto the good parts in a minute.’ 

The good part was watching as diners took to the floor, trying their hand at a range of activities. Ros signed up for the archery, and they all clapped her on as she took her go, aiming the dulled arrow into a cardboard target. Before she took her shot, she turned her face towards them, winked, tossed her red curls over her shoulder, and aimed; she missed the middle by inches, hitting the very edge. 

‘Never mind,’ she said, laughing as she came back to the table to watch the others taking part, ‘I’m a little rusty. It’s been a while since I shot anything.’ 

Everyone was in good spirits, even Sansa who was giggling at the end of the table, clinking her goblet at the toasts the other women were making and refusing to join Margaery in the juggler’s contest. 

Brienne felt restless. She couldn’t stop twitching, in a constant stare of awareness. She knew the big table that had just come in knew about The One. They’d gasped when they’d figured it out, and she’d seen a few of them automatically go for their phones; luckily, this place took all electronic devices at the door, not wanting to ruin the experience. (If you desperately needed proof you’d been here, for just £25 you could purchase a staged photo of yourself in your costume in front of a fake backdrop when you left.) 

When someone dropped their goblet on the floor, the clanking made the nerves all over Brienne’s body stand up. The rest of the crowd cheered, and she pushed her chair back; she needed five minutes of peace. 

‘Just going to the loo,’ she said, smiling as Ramsay scowled at her. She hurried away before he could insist on someone follow her to make sure she wasn’t up to anything. As she was fighting her way to the toilets, having to wait behind a group of people making their way to the middle of the floor, she found herself trapped next to the table of people who recognised them all from the show. 

‘I’ve lost sight of the big woman,’ someone said, and Brienne felt herself tense. They were talking about her – she'd been described as big enough times to know it was her defining factor. 

‘Who cares?’ said a guy. ‘It’s all about Cersei. She’s a MILF.’ 

‘Ew, that’s disgusting,’ said another voice, and Brienne prayed the group in front of her sorted themselves out soon; there was a kind of blockage as people tried to get onto the floor for the next contest (pie eating), and the jugglers tried to get off. ‘Plus, she’d eat you for breakfast. She looks at everyone like they’re nothing but dirt on her shoe, and it’s not even worth her effort to get rid of them.’ 

‘I know,’ the guy said, sighing wistfully. ‘That’s why I like her so much.’ 

‘It matters,’ said the first girl, as the crowd in front of Brienne shifted an inch, ‘because according to everything I’ve read, she’s the front runner.’ 

‘So?’ said the guy. ‘She’s a reality show star. There are better people to give your time to, even if she might be the winner.’ 

There was a gap in front of Brienne now, but she allowed a few people to go ahead of her; how could she be the front runner? That didn’t make any sense. 

‘And anyway,’ said the guy, cutting off the girl’s protests, ‘Brienne the front runner? You have to be kidding. It’s all about Margaery; her and Jaime both come from rich families with a last name that opens doors.’ 

‘Brienne is the perfect match for Jaime!’ The girl protested. ‘They both like to fight, and you can just tell she’d be able to hold her own against him – both in wits and in the ring. Jaime needs someone who can put him in check now and again, when he runs away with himself. Someone humble, but good-natured who will call him on his shit.’ 

‘And Brienne is the one to do all that?’ the guy asked. The floor around Brienne was clearing; any minute now she’d be exposed to the group. It was only because they were all so busy looking at the contestants of The One in front of them that they hadn’t noticed her behind them already. And that a couple of tall men had blocked her from view; but they’d be gone soon. 

‘She doesn’t like him because of his last name!’ the girl said hotly. ‘But you can tell that she likes him. Even when she was talking about what he’d done in the past, you could tell it was because she was trying to talk herself out of liking him, not because she actually believed it.’ 

‘You can tell all that? How?’ The guy sounded skeptical, and Brienne had to agree with him; she’d worked so hard on keeping her feelings for Jaime under wraps. 

‘When he’s on the videos, she smiles. She looks so genuinely shocked and then happy when she realises she’s got through each week. And she had his old motorbike. I mean, how can you deny they’re made for each other?’ 

‘If she actually had it,’ the guy said. ‘You know a lot of this is all fake don’t you?’ 

‘Well that wasn’t - the dealer who sold Brienne the motorbike did an interview and agreed that she brought it, and that he didn’t tell her who owned it before her, three years ago. So there.’ 

‘Alright, I see your point with that,’ the guy said, ‘but come on. You can’t have Jaime Lannister, who’s done a fair bit of modelling, next to Brienne.’ 

‘Why?’ said the girl, her voice cold. Brienne herself suddenly felt chilly and she wished she had the nerve to interrupt their conversation. Not to challenge the guy – but to beg the girl not to defend her. She wasn’t the prettiest, that was a fact. She hated when people – even if they were well meaning – tried to jump in to defend her. She’d heard enough about how pretty her eyes were, the only feature they could pick out to shove in the insulter's face. 

‘Don’t make me say it,’ the guy said. ‘You have eyes.’ 

‘Her looks don’t matter!’ the girl said, and a few heads at neighbouring tables turned in their direction. Brienne quickly pushed forward a little, keeping her head down, and making for the tall column that would shield her from the group. Brienne hated that phrase. Looks shouldn’t matter; but they did. First impressions and all that. 

‘If that was the case they’d have a different couple name wouldn’t they?’ the boy said smugly. 

Brienne froze. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this, but it did explain one question she’d been wondering; why Margaery hadn’t told her any of this. She told them about articles and what some of the other women were getting up to in the weeks following their elimination; but she hadn’t mentioned there was a front runner. Brienne never would have thought it would be her; the guy was right; Cersei or Margaery were the obvious choices. 

‘Don’t,’ said the girl sharply. ‘I hate it.’ 

The guy gave a bark of laughter. ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ he said, and even though she knew it would be something like that Brienne had to close her eyes as the sharp pain of words sliced through her stomach. 

‘That’s not what the fans call them,’ the girl said. ‘It’s just a horrible thing arseholes on the internet have come up with.’ 

‘I’m bored,’ said the girl with the high voice. ‘I stopped watching after the first two episodes. Can we talk about something else?’ 

Their conversation moved on, and Brienne found herself on autopilot, crossing the room to the lobby beyond. The noise was muffled here, although people still spilled out from the costume room on the other side, and the doors to the outside had been left open, letting a breeze in to the room. 

She knew there would be comments about her online. That most of them would be horrible; it was just a price you paid for being out there. 

It hurt. Worse than she thought it would. She’d told herself over and over again to expect this, trying to prepare herself for it, but being discussed as casual conversation was worse than she could have imagined. She was more than a dinner topic; and what she looked like was more than the butt of a joke. 

She was more than that. 

A guy, covered from head to toe to the same fake chain mail as The Hound clanked past, twirling a plastic sword around his fingers. 

Well, Brienne thought, beasts never went down without a fight. 

* 

The fake armour she’d been fitted with looked good; a burnished metal tunic, with ridged arms, in a golden tone. It was lighter than it looked. There were black trousers and black boots to complete the look. They’d had to fit her from the men’s costumes, but they’d been happy to do it once Brienne had told them she didn’t care. 

She shoved the helmet on over her head, snapping the visor up so she could see her way back into the main hall. A sword with a lion head handle hung on her hip from the leather belt they’d also given to her. She’d been astounded by the knight costumes, hidden away at the back of the room. According to the people who worked there, they were the least hired out; the ladies wanted the giant dresses, the men liked being jesters or kings. They’d had a lot of fun kitting Brienne out with all the accessories, and Brienne had loved it too. 

It might just have been because she’d have liked anything that wasn’t the pink dress, which she left crumpled in the corner of the make shift dressing room, and which nobody had bothered to pick up. It seemed the employees didn’t care too much for it either. 

The noise assaulted Brienne as soon as she walked back into the main hall, but she held her head high, walking to the crowd who were making their way to the middle of the room. The ‘jousting’ was about to start; two mechanical bucking broncos had been brought into the circle, sitting next to each other so the people on them would be within easy reach. 

The armour, while not actual metal, more tin, would protect them from any damage the plastic swords would do. The idea was that the ‘knights’ would fight each other, one of them pushing the other off, although really it was a matter of who could stay on their bronco for longer. 

Brienne sat through five fights before it was her turn. She felt powerful as she walked towards her bull, not requiring the help needed to get on the back. She risked a glance up at her table, just visible from here. Ramsay was standing up, looking around furiously, and the others all seemed to be chatting as normal, casting occasional glances down at the fights. 

Only Margaery was staring down at her, the side of her mouth twisted in a smug little smirk. She waved as Brienne caught her eye, then sat back, preparing to watch. 

Brienne snapped her visor down – those plastic swords could cause real damage if they caught your eye apparently -, staring through the small slits to her opponent. He’d been on his bronco for the last two fights, taking his helmet off after each fight and bowing to the ladies clapping him. 

Brienne gripped the fake sword in her hand, then tensed her thigh muscles around the wide hide of her bronco. 

With a grim smile on her face at the thought of Ramsay being too busy looking for her to film this, she raised her sword, prepared to fight. 

* 

Brienne managed to knock seven people off their bronco before she got unseated; and by that point most of the rage fueling her had turned to achy tension. When she finally got unseated, she thought for a moment about taking off her helmet, and letting the crowd see her. Thought about making eye contact with the group who’d been discussing her earlier. 

She’d decided against it in the end, just raising a hand to the cheers coming her way, and walking off. She hadn’t done this so people could clap and cheer. She hadn’t done this for anyone but herself; to prove she was more than her looks. To make another good memory she could cherish when she either lost this contest or to block out the disappointment she was sure would be on Jaime’s face if she won. 

She went back to the main lobby, leaning up against the wall. Her thighs were shaky, and she hadn’t felt this bad since the fight with The Hound. She hoped Tywin had something easy for them tomorrow; she wasn’t up to another walking tour. 

She removed her helmet, pulling a face at the thought of what she looked like. Red, sweaty, hair sticking to her forehead. 

‘Impressive,’ said The Hound appearing in front of her. 

‘Thanks,’ she said looking around. 

‘Ramsay’s had to clean himself off a little,’ The Hound said, a barley suppressed smile on his face. ‘Yara persuaded Missandei to drink a flagon of ale, and she threw it all back up on his shoes.’ 

‘It couldn’t have happened to a nicer man,’ said Brienne. They started walking back towards the costume hire hall, ignoring the woman calling to them to get their photo taken. 

‘Everyone took her outside to clear her head a little, but I said I’d wait for you. Margaery told everyone you’d probably gone for a wander around the building, trying to soak up the fake history, but I’ve seen you fight up close. I knew that was you.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Brienne said again. There was a small tension between them, and Brienne didn’t want it there. They’d become kind of friends. There was only one way to get through it; and ignoring the issue wasn’t going to work. ‘Tyrion admitted that you were hired to make sure Jaime kept out of trouble.’ 

‘Aye,’ said The Hound. ‘For these six weeks, I have been. He doesn’t know.’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said. 

‘Don’t tell him,’ he said. 

‘I...’ she trailed off as she met his gaze, the denial on her lips. ‘I haven’t seen him for a while. I don’t know if I’m going to again.’ 

‘Look, it’s none of my business what you or him get up to,’ The Hound said gruffly. He leaned against the wall, and Brienne noticed he was out of his costume already; the night was over, and she was the one holding everyone up. ‘I’m not paid to care. I follow him when he sneaks out – he's terrible at being discreet. Tyrion’s already had to pay seventeen of the hotel staff off so they won’t leak that they saw him entering the hotel. I watch from a safe distance. And while he might not notice me, I’m sure you would’ve if I appeared behind you.’ 

Brienne nodded, but couldn’t confirm it. She’d found it hard sometimes to concentrate on anything other than Jaime’s face and Jaime's eyes, Jaime's lips and Jaime's cheekbones, Jaime’s hair curling softly under his ears, and Jaime’s shoulders.... 

‘I don’t listen in on your conversations,’ he said. ‘I just stay in the car outside, waiting for him to reappear. I’ve made contact with the bartender, and he’s promised to keep an eye on him for me while he’s inside.’ 

‘Nothing is going to happen to Jaime at The Bear Pit,’ Brienne said. 

Nothing would happen to Jaime while he was with Brienne; it felt shaming to admit it to herself, but she already knew it was the truth. She would protect Jaime if she had to. 

‘I know,’ The Hound said. ‘But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t make sure.’ He hesitated. ‘Tomorrow is Tywin’s day. He hasn’t told us what he’s planning – hasn't spoken to us at all to be honest – but keep an eye on Sansa won’t you? Even I can see her fuse is getting shorter, and for her to blow up at Tywin Lannister could do a lot of damage.’ 

‘I always look out for Sansa,’ Brienne said. She softened a little; The Hound was trying to be nice, which she imaged came hard to him. ‘I always look out for my friends.’ 

He nodded. ‘Is that what you and Jaime are? Friends?’ His black eyes were staring into her, and she felt a blush fight its way onto her cheeks. 

She didn’t know how to answer, and she gave herself a little time to think while she undid the buckles on the costume she was wearing. She’d have to take it back into the hall and change into her own clothes before she could join the others. 

She’d argued with Jaime, but now she felt like she’d been a little harsh with him. Her parting shot had been below the belt too; he wasn’t really the Jaime Lannister she’d always thought he was. That was a face he put on, a mask to hide behind. And whatever they were building, whatever this relationship between them was would all be over in a few weeks anyway, when Jaime got married. 

There was only really one answer she could give The Hound. 

‘For now.’ 

* 

The dread was practically a visible thing. It floated like the dust motes between the women in the den, stealing their voices and their emotions. They all stood behind the sofa today, none of them wanting to take a seat. They’d all dressed in shirts and trousers, or smart skirts. Sansa had tied a little black veil into her hair, as if she was going to a funeral, although the expression on her face told everyone she hated whoever she was supposed to be mourning. Her hands kept curling up into fists every minute or so, and everyone had taken to grabbing her hands and unfurling them for her when they noticed she was doing it again. 

Tywin wasn’t here yet; it seemed he, like Petyr required an entrance. 

‘What do you think he’s going to make us do today?’ Missandei whispered. She’d already admitted that she was nervous, even though she’d never met Tywin before. Yara’s father had been after meeting him for years, and had slimed his way over to him a party once. 

Ygritte and Daenerys were the calmest. Daenerys was still smiling serenely, and Brienne thought randomly of those daggers she’d showed off, still somewhere inside the house. 

Cersei stood stock still in the middle of the line behind the sofa, perfectly poised. Joffrey had been shut up in her room today, and she looked like the very picture of businesswoman. The elegant sweeping dresses had been replaced by a sharp suit, with towering heels and her hair in a braided knot at the back of her head. Brienne had heard someone moving around downstairs from 4am this morning, and she knew it had been Cersei. 

She flicked her gaze to Cersei, wondering how she could remain so composed, and like she hadn’t been up to anything untoward last night. It hadn’t just been Cersei sneaking around at 4am; when Brienne had looked out one of the windows in the hallway on her back from the bathroom, she’d noticed the dark shaved head of Euron Greyjoy hurrying away across the garden to the back gates. 

It wasn’t just the women who were uneasy; even Ramsay hadn’t made any smart remarks or shouted at them all today. He seemed to be on his best behaviour, wanting to show Tywin that he could be a perfect employee. The Lannister Company had recently invested in several films, and you could practically see Ramsay’s promotion dreams behind his eyes. 

‘Tywin?’ Margaery whispered back. ‘Who knows? He could make us do anything.’ They’d been no chance to discuss today – they'd all fallen straight into bed as soon as they came home last night. ‘I doubt it will be anything outdoors. To be honest, I’m surprised he’s taken a day off. Grandmother said the only time he’s ever taken from his company was the two months after his wife died, and then he went straight back like nothing ever happened.’ 

The doors opened, and it felt like a cold wind had entered despite the warmth of the sun outside. Tywin Lannister entered the den, striding right past them. His grey hair was parted down the middle, and everything about him screamed professional. Nothing was out of place. He looked just like a portrait of an old stern headmaster, that would hang behind the desk, staring down at the students who’d been bad. 

He stared at them all now like they were bugs who’d crawled into his house. 

‘And we’re rolling,’ Ramsay said, gesturing to Tywin who didn’t even acknowledge him. ‘Just speak whenever you’re ready, Mr Lannister.’ 

Brienne swallowed down her gag. 

‘Ladies, good morning to you,’ Tywin said. ‘I know you’ve spent this week doing very little, other than drinking, but today you’ll have to engage your brains a bit more. I hope you’re all up to the challenge.’ His gaze lingered on Ros who bristled at his tone. ‘Today ladies, you’re going to spend the day with me, at the Lannister offices. You’ll see what it is I spend my day doing; what my son will one day be in charge of. Of course, you’ll only be seeing the public parts; no wondering off, or opening closed doors and pretending you’ve gotten lost. We’ll have people watching you at all times, and I don’t think I need to impress upon you all how crucial it is that you impress me today.’ His gaze moved to Cersei, who stared back at him, respect in her eyes. 

Automatically, Brienne reached for Sana’s fists. Instead of unfurling them, she held the trembling hand in hers, knowing that Margaery had done the same on the other side. 

* 

The Lannister buildings were impressive; there was no getting around that. Tall, with windows along one whole side so the entire street could look in and see the expensive offices. It had been refurbished only five years ago, Brienne knew. The scaffolding had blocked the pavement around the building, and Londoners had complained constantly. The redesign had cost them a rumoured eight million pounds, and you could almost smell the money as soon as you walked into the building; the plush carpets with not a speck of dirt on them, even though there were several large potted plants around; the shiny walnut desk sat in the corner of the room, with an immaculate assistant behind it; the muted conversations from the groups huddled around the lifts, as they looked over sheaf's of papers and tapped away on their countless devices. 

No wonder so many people left this place; Brienne felt oppressed even in the lobby. It made her miss her father’s building; since most of his work was done in factories, he just had a small set of offices, a couple of streets away from here. The floors hadn’t been touched since they’d taken over the floor, although they had painted the walls. There were framed photographs of their products on the walls, and a large display case set just inside the first door for people to see as they arrived and left. Her father had his own (small) office, which fit a desk, a chair and a filing cabinet. They’d been talking about hiring somewhere a little bigger, but had never quite got around to it. The office had been Selwyn’s when his business had been just a small company, before he had changed direction and it became bigger than anyone could ever have dreamed. 

‘Follow me,’ Tywin said, striding past the desk, and over to the lifts. The contestants followed him, Cersei almost tripping over herself to keep pace with him, the rest following slowly. None of them wanted to be here, but they couldn’t really cry off. Brienne had debated taking a leaf out of Cersei’s book and throwing herself down the stairs, but it had seemed a little extreme. 

And she needed to be here for Sansa. This was the company that had ruined years of her parents’ hard work. Some of her parents most devoted employees had been poached away from the Starks just before the company went under, and Brienne knew Sansa was fearful of bumping into any of them. Even though it had been years, Ned had kept track of them; they were still here, working for Tywin. 

They got into the lift in two groups. Brienne kept her gaze averted from the back wall mirror. The reflection made her feel crowded, and it was a feeling not made better when they stepped out onto the top floor, once again following Tywin’s footsteps. 

Pod’s day had been rained off. Tyrion’s and Bronn’s had descended into madness, and The Hound’s had ended with Missandei throwing her guts up in a serving wench costume. 

And yet, this day would be the difficult one to pull footage from. Cersei tried a few failed conversation starters, but after Tywin had gazed at her coolly for a while, she stopped, going back into herself. 

They were tasked to sit at a big glossy black table, with twenty chairs around it, staring at a blank computer screen projected onto the white board behind them, Twyin leaving them in the room while he dealt with something more important.

‘My dad will bust a nut when he sees me here,’ Yara said, throwing her chair back and spinning around on it. ‘I’m finally in the inner sanctum. I can almost hear him in my ear, yelling at me to corner Tywin and tell him all about the exciting opportunities sponsoring a water park could bring him.’ 

‘Are they many exciting opportunities?’ Ygritte asked. ‘I’ve been to your waterparks a few times, and don’t get me wrong, they’re okay, but they’re no Thrope Park are they?’ 

‘Funny, I’ve always thought the same about your father’s beer and Stella.’ The two women shared a grin. ‘And if you like death defying rides and having your company logo splashed everywhere, then yeah, there are loads of opportunities.’ 

‘Are you going to then?’ Ygritte asked. ‘Talk to Tywin about investing? Do you think he’d listen if I pitched my father’s beer company to him?’ 

‘Gods, no,’ Cersei said, butting in. ‘Don’t any of you dare approach Tywin about investment. He’ll ignore you, or kick you out, and you’ll give all of us a bad name. Our roles today are to sit and be talked to and to let Tywin say whatever he wants to. We’re trying to impress him, remember?’ 

‘You might be,’ Yara said under her breath, but she remained silent the rest of the morning when Tywin came back to give them a tour around the eight other floors of the building. It seemed her father’s investment was still on her mind. 

They broke for lunch, back in the office from earlier, platters of sandwiches and jugs of orange juice laid out for them like at a kid's party. They were obviously not worth trying to impress. 

After lunch, Tywin appeared and took them to the top. He told them all about how privileged they were, getting to see this; apparently only their most crucial business partners got to see this high up. He led them over to a highly polished door, with a golden name plate. On the other side of the hallway was a small, tidy desk, and Brienne hid her smile when she noticed a hastily placed photo of Pod and his dog on it. She doubted Pod had ever sat at that desk. 

But they weren’t here for Pod; they were here for Jaime, and Tywin, if he were given to such dramatics, practically opened the door with a flourish. 

The room was big. Bigger than any other they’d seen so far today, with a raised platform at the back, Jaime’s desk and chair in front of the glass windows. He had a view of the surrounding London streets. 

The women spread out, each wanting to get a closer look at something, a cameraman following each of them; it was a big enough office that even with the 19 of them the place didn’t feel crowded. The women in heels almost sunk into the plush carpeting, Margaery having to catch herself on the wall and then pretending she was interested in the impressive display of paperwork and photographs up there; Jaime's qualifications, or him shaking hands with famous people. 

Cersei had headed straight for the chair behind the desk, and was sitting in it, her legs crossed, looking at home as she read the notes in front of her. Only Sansa remained where she was, by the door, arms crossed. This was enemy territory. 

Brienne would have stayed with her, but her attention had been caught by the bookshelf. It spanned one entire wall, made from a dark wood, and was crammed; not with books, although there were a few of them here and there, shoved into a space randomly and sprinkled with dust. 

The space was mainly taken over by objects; an entire junk shops worth full of them. Bobble headed figures from past TV shows in one area; a very old cuddly toy that was leaking stuffing; small dishes and tiny cups with pretty patterned glass, pennies chucked into a few; pens in all different shapes and sizes, including one with a sword hilt for a lid. It was a treasure trove of useless items, and Brienne could happily have spent the rest of the day examining it. She loved charity shops, although she rarely had time for a proper look through them. She used to get most of her books from them, delighting in finding a well-worn paperback that wouldn’t care if it spent the next few weeks crammed into her already bulging shoulder bag. 

‘My son is a terrible hoarder,’ said Tywin appearing behind her. Brienne would have been surprised if she hadn’t noticed Ramsay following behind; they needed moments of Tywin bonding with the ladies, which so far had been in short supply. Ramsay would want a two-minute segment of Tywin with each of them. ‘When he was little, I insisted on a clean room. Now that he’s old enough he buys anything he finds pretty or interesting and places it here. He won’t get rid of anything, no matter how many times I tell him to clear it out.’ Tywin eyed the bookcase like it wasn’t to be trusted. ‘I’m sure he’d discover a hundred things he thinks he’s lost over the years if he just sorted this out and used it for it’s proper purpose.’ 

‘I like it,’ Brienne said, tracing a finger over a black ceramic motorcycle on a stand, standing in an almost empty shelf. ‘You could look for hours and still have more to discover.’ 

‘Yes,’ Twyin said, and that was that; he moved onto Daenerys and Missandei to chat to them about the rare whiskey they’d found in Jaime’s mini fridge. 

Brienne opened one of the drawers in the bookcase, frowning at the yellowing paper that peeked out. Making sure nobody else was watching her, Brienne edged the wedge of papers out, her heart beating fast. This was nothing to do with her; she was just being nosy. 

But still, she whipped the papers out, unfolding them, her heart catching in her throat when she saw what they were; seventy odd articles about Jaime Lannister, the murderer. They ranged from the day after the incident, with photos of Jaime being led into a police building, to smaller ones talking about what he’d been charged with, when Tywin must have come down hard on the media and demand they stop making his son’s antics front page news. 

Brienne flipped through the articles; this couldn’t be all the ones that had been written about him, but it was a good chunk of them. Harsh words jumped out at her; the people who had written these had been firmly not on Jaime’s side. 

He’d only been back at work a year. Whatever he was doing with these, he’d kept them and brought them to his office. 

Brienne shoved them back where they came from, then walked away, trying to make her pulse calm. It was nothing to do with her. 

‘Excuse me, I just need to – oh. Sansa.’ A man walking through the doorway held a clipboard aloft, almost frozen in shock as he passed by the red-head. ‘I didn’t know you had guests,’ he said, turning to Tywin. 

‘These are the ladies currently competing for my son’s hand,’ Tywin said. ‘I thought I’d show them how we do business in the Lannister family; after all, if things work out between them and my son, we could always find them a place to work.’ Cersei sat up at that, like she was about to ace the interview no matter what it cost. ‘And it’s always a good idea to show the public what we get up to,’ Tywin said, slipping a wink to the camera. ‘What did you want Umber?’ Brienne looked up sharply. 

Jon Umber had been one of Ned Stark’s best employees; he’d sworn his loyalty to the Starks, vowing that he would stay with them even if the company sank. 

Two days after Jaime Lannister had informed the Starks of what he’d done, Jon Umber had signed a contract with the Lannisters. 

‘You said you needed to sign this,’ Jon Umber said, striding across the room. ‘It’s been a nightmare to track you down, I’ve been running everywhere.’ 

‘You’ve found me now,’ said Twyin coolly, pulling a pen from his top pocket and signing whatever paperwork Jon had thrust into his hand. ‘Now I think it might be time for you to go back to work.’ Jon nodded, turning and leaving the room his head held high, although he avoided making eye contact with Sansa as he passed her again. 

‘We used to call him Uncle,’ Sansa said to herself in a whisper. Her body was starting to shake, but she swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said, just a tiny bit louder. ‘I’m not feeling very well.’ She fled into the hallway, and Brienne automatically took half a step forward to follow. 

Then she noticed the ghost of a smirk on Tywin’s face. He’d made Umber come to look for him to rub him in Sansa’s face. To prove, once again, that he’d won. That he’d got what he wanted. 

Someone needed to call him out on his bullshit. Ros, Missandei, Daenerys and Ygritte weren’t invested enough to want to get involved. Margaery obviously desperately wanted to; but angering Tywin Lannister was not a smart move and he could make things very difficult for the Tyrell perfume line if he wished to; the same with Yara and her father’s waterparks. Margaery’s Grandmother might spar with Tywin whenever they got in the same room, but out of respect they didn’t seriously rock the boat for each other. One wrong whispered word in the right ears, and there would be trouble. 

Sansa had been defeated. 

And Cersei wasn’t going to say anything; she didn’t look tense or sick at the way Tywin had acted; she was still smiling in her chair, almost like she was picturing this office being hers. 

It was up to Brienne. Tywin would probably try to destroy her father’s company; but they were rock solid, and not in the same business. Tywin’s words wouldn’t reach the sector the Tarth’s were in. 

And Tywin’s money certainly wouldn’t do any damage. 

‘You’re right,’ Brienne said, speaking into the silent room. ‘It’s such a good idea for the public to see how you do business; bullying a young lady to the point of tears. I’m sure everyone will be queuing up to work with you after this.’ 

Margaery uttered a soft ‘Brienne,’ as a warning, but let it go when she was ignored; she knew it too. Brienne was the only person who could do this. And do this she would. 

‘I’m sorry?’ Tywin said, turning to her. There was the faintest hint of amusement in his black eyes. ‘What did you just say to me?’ 

‘I said you’re a bully,’ Brienne said. ‘Bringing Sansa here was a horrible move, and shoving someone who used to work for her family in her face was even worse. I hope whatever little kick you got out of it was worth it; the Starks are still well liked, and well respected. Your reputation, however, I very much doubt can handle another bashing on social media.’ 

‘Yes, and if business was done on social media, I’m sure I’d be terrified,’ Tywin said. He strolled to Jaime's mini fridge, pouring himself a small shot of brandy and trying to stare Brienne down. 

She’d stared down far scarier men than him in her time. ‘Remind me, which one are you again? I don’t think we’ve met before. I’d remember a face like yours,’ Twyin asked, his small smirk back in place. If he thought calling her ugly was going to cut her, he really needed to rethink his battle plan. 

‘My name is Brienne Tarth,’ she said. ‘And thank you for proving my point.’ 

‘What point would that be?’ Tywin said. 

She might be okay with calling his behaviour out, but even she knew that calling him a dick to his face would be going too far. 

‘You think that it’s okay for you to insult us and call us names and try to make us feel small because you think we’re all beneath you. It’s not right.’ 

‘Next you’ll be going on about how life isn’t fair,’ Tywin said. ‘Maybe it’s not right.’ He shrugged. ‘But this is my building and my company and I can do whatever I want. If that means making sure you women know your place, then so be it. And who’s to say that I upset the little Stark girl on purpose? Nobody can prove I called Umber to see me. And Petyr will show whatever I pay him to show.’ 

‘That’s not the point,’ Brienne said, keeping her voice steady. She didn’t want to get into a screaming match with Tywin Lannister. She just wanted to stick up for her friend. ‘I couldn't care less about what airs. But you knew Sansa was in this contest, and you still brought us here; you’re not a dumb man, Mr Lannister. You would have expected that to hurt. I knew you were cruel, but to then rub it in her face is evil.’ 

‘Who said I knew Sansa was in this contest?’ Tywin said. ‘Maybe I asked to be kept out of the loop so that I wouldn’t come into this week with my favourites already decided.’ 

All the women shot him a look at that; it was the biggest load of bullshit they’d ever heard. ‘Tarth did you say?’ Tywin asked, and Brienne nodded, her heart stopping. She’d just assumed that because Tyrion and Jaime didn’t know, that Tywin wouldn’t either. But they weren’t a family that sat around at family dinners discussing people they vaguely knew. ‘Is your father the one with the tiny little homeware company? It’s been going for years, hasn’t it?’ 

‘It’s a bit bigger now days,’ Brienne said, watching him cautiously. His eyes had hardened as their conversation had gone on, and she was preparing for the strike; Tywin wasn’t going to let her get away with this so easily. 

‘You mean all one hundred customers put in an order this week?’ Tywin said, his hard smile back on his face. ‘I know you think you were sticking up for the Stark girl, Miss Tarth, but your hero antics have failed. Sansa could have walked out of here any time she wished too. There are no guards stopping her, nobody with a sniper trained on one of her family members. But she’s still here for a reason. Maybe she does want my son. I presume that’s what this little outburst is really all about?’ he asked. 

‘What?’ Brienne said stupidly. How had this come around to Jaime? 

‘Yes. See, I’ve met plenty of girls like you in my time,’ Tywin said. ‘Girls who think that be being just a little bit different it will catch my attention. They’ve tried everything over the years, although considering you haven’t been this outspoken all day, I’ll assume your emotions just got the better of you. Let me guess; Daddy’s business suddenly isn’t doing it for you? After being surrounded by women with actual legacies to their names you’ve decided you want to be just like them? Was it the mention of a job that got to you? Made you think that you could speak to me like that?’ 

‘I don’t need you to tell me how I can or can’t talk to anyone,’ Brienne said. There was a pulse beating in her head, as the anger pumped through her. Her face was flushing, but she kept herself still. She would not make this a fight, no matter how many of her buttons Tywin tried to push. 

‘Well you need somebody to teach you; why shouldn’t it be me?’ He paused to take a sip of his drink, appraising her. ‘Yes, I think you need to be taught a lesson. Shall we see how your father’s company survives after I’m through with it? You do remember what happened to your friend’s family company, don’t you?’ he said, gesturing towards the door Sansa had left through. 

‘Except that was when you had Jaime to do all your charm offensive for you,’ Brienne said before she could think about it. ‘I doubt he’d do that again – from what I hear he wasn’t thrilled about doing it to the Starks even back then. And after what happened four years ago, it’ll be a lot more difficult for him to smile his way into anyone’s trust. And why you might be good at business, everyone knows you’re not to be trusted either.’ 

‘I’m going to destroy your father’s company,’ Tywin said, calmly. Brienne didn’t even feel a flutter; if anything she was amused. She couldn’t wait to see that fight. 

She could tell him; right here, right now. Shout it at him, watching as the blank expression slid from his face. 

Something told her not to. Her moment would come, she was sure of that now, standing here; but not yet. Not today. 

Margaery met her eyes, and raised an eyebrow in a question, but Brienne gave a small shake of her head. ‘And let me thank you Miss Tarth.’ He placed his glass on the table behind him, his gaze fixed solidly on Brienne. ‘Before today I was in two minds about who I should send home on Saturday. A few of you crossed my mind.’ His gaze flashed to Cersei and then Missandei. ‘But there’s no doubt now; you will never get the chance to work here, Miss Tarth, if that’s what you were after. On Saturday night, I will be sending you home.’ 

Brienne stayed silent. There were a thousand comebacks she could fire at him; tell him she’d rather drink poison that work for him. Say finally, and exclaim that she’d been waiting to go home since the first week. Burst into laughter and ask if that was supposed to make her feel upset? 

Instead she raised her chin and stared at him, letting her gaze do all the talking. She would not be intimidated by Tywin Lannister. ‘If you’ll excuse me ladies, some of us have a business to keep afloat,’ Tywin said, crossing to the door. ‘And one to ruin, but that will come in good time. I’ll see you all tomorrow evening for the F&F dinner.’ He left the room without once looking back, and they all stood around in silence, each of them staring at Brienne who focused on the view, trying to get her breathing under control. 

She was leaving. Finally. 

The door opened, and everyone whipped their heads to stare at it, breathing a sigh of relief when it was only Sansa coming inside. 

‘Sorry about that,’ she said, a fake smile on her face. ‘I suddenly came over a little light headed.’ She gazed around at all of them, noticing Tywin’s absence, and that even Ramsay was still standing in the corner, not talking. ‘What did I miss?’ 

* 

Sansa had told Brienne countless times on the way home that she shouldn’t have done it. That Brienne was risking everything, and it wasn’t worth it; the Lannisters’ weren’t worth making an enemy of. That Tywin would be in his element now, with somebody to try and destroy and although the Tarth family business was unlikely to fall, it wasn’t 100% solid and Tywin could pull in some pretty impressive favours. 

Then Sansa had given Brienne the biggest hug, almost knocking Brienne off her feet, which was never an easy thing to do. 

The company would be fine; she’d spent two years reading over the books, getting to know their budget, their ingoings and outgoings. She knew all the names of the company’s partners, and had met several of them over the years. Selwyn didn’t do business with people who could be easily brought; none of them would betray her father. 

Margaery gave Brienne a simple kiss on the cheek as they all stepped off the coach once they finally arrived back at the house. 

All the other women simply walked past her, avoiding her eyes. Brienne thought it was because they were suddenly feeling sorry for her; she’d gone up against Tywin Lannister, and it had backfired. He was going to ruin her and get rid of her. She’d have nothing left. 

The only person who walked past, a furious expression on her face was Cersei. Brienne didn’t really know what she had to be angry about; by arguing with Tywin, hadn’t Brienne helped Cersei’s case? Showed Tywin that there were worse people his son could marry than the simpering blonde who was desperate to impress. 

An hour after they’d all eaten dinner and retired to their rooms to prepare for the meal tomorrow, Brienne found herself pacing her room again, anger still fueling her body. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything. Sansa was too busy texting Theon, and Margaery would be on the phone relaying every single detail of her day to her Grandmother. 

Brienne stared at her helmet, sitting on her chest of drawers. No. She couldn’t. 

But if she was really, truly going home on Saturday then what harm could it do? She wasn’t the type of person who couldn’t control her emotions; her feelings about Jaime wouldn’t come bubbling out of her mouth. She would just get to say goodbye. 

She grabbed her helmet and made for the door. 

* 

Davos greeted her like an old friend when she entered, and brought her drink over to the table in the back. He still hadn’t fixed the light bulb overhead, and Brienne found herself wondering if he’d left it alone for her sake. Davos seemed like a smart man; he must have figured out who she was by now. By all accounts they were all over the media, and although she didn’t think Davos was the kind of person to spend all day on Twitter, he probably did catch the odd early morning breakfast show now and then. 

She settled into her chair, feeling at peace for the first time today. The bar was quiet for a Thursday night, only a few other tables taken. No one else paid her any attention, and Brienne thought it was probably because they got all sorts in here. This was a bar where you went not to be noticed. Where you went to be left alone. 

Brienne however had no such luck on her hands. Twenty minutes after she’d arrived, Jaime walked through the door heading straight for her. She watched him approach, ignoring the tiny flutter of her pathetic heart. 

He looked somber. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair was hanging limply around his face. His lips were dry and cracked and he hadn’t shaved for a few days, letting the stubble overtake the lower half of his face. 

Brienne would not admit that she liked it. 

‘I thought you were avoiding me,’ Jaime said, as he slipped into the seat opposite her. 

‘Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I’m not,’ she said. ‘Nobody asked you to come. Maybe I just fancied a night out.’ 

He flicked her skeptical look. She could deny it all she wanted, until she was blue in the face, but they both knew it; they both came here for each other. There were a number of other bars and pubs around they could go to if they wanted an evening out. 

‘I’m sorry for the other night,’ Brienne said quickly, avoiding his gaze. ‘I was a little too harsh to judge you. I’ve told you before that nobody wanted to win the show, and you’ve known Cersei for a long time; she obviously wants you. I get why you’d want her to win; why you wouldn’t want a bride who was only marrying you because she had to.’ She wondered if she should mention seeing Euron sneaking out in the early morning, as proof of how bad Cersei was; but no. It was nothing to do with her, and would be even less her business come Saturday night. Cersei was the one silver lining, and she couldn’t take her away from Jaime. 

‘Thank you,’ Jaime said after a pause. ‘For apologising. It means a lot. The people I know don’t do it often.’ There was a shadow of a smirk on his face, but it was filled with bitterness. 

‘You need to meet some more people,’ Brienne said. 

‘You may be right.’ They lapsed into a silence, disturbed only by Davos bringing Jaime his Coke. Davos eyed Jaime as he put the drink down, but left them to it, just like always. 

He was a good man. Brienne would miss him. She knew that once she left there was nothing stopping her coming back here every night. She could sit at the bar and chat with him some more, come and enjoy the bands that were playing. 

But she wouldn’t. This place would forever be linked to Jaime and whatever it was that was burning inside her for him. It would become a memory, a dull ache that that would eventually pass. 

As would Jaime. 

‘Come on then, tell me,’ Jaime said. ‘I’m dying to know how your week’s been. As you can see I’ve been left rather to my own devices this week; I’ve actually spent time in the house I’m supposed to be in. Mostly sleeping and watching pointless TV shows I couldn’t tell you a single detail of, but it was better than being on my own in the hotel.’ 

‘You haven’t seen any of them?’ Brienne asked. She flicked her gaze to the windows that looked out onto the car park outside, wondering if The Hound was out there somewhere, lurking. Jaime obviously didn’t have the slightest idea he had a bodyguard, and Brienne wasn’t going to inform him; it wasn’t her business. 

‘My father’s been coming in to glare at me and tell me why I’m a waste of space before sweeping out again to take or make some terrible important phone call. Tyrion had some work to attend to as well, which he couldn’t put off any longer, and...’ and obviously, Brienne added to herself, if Tyrion had work to do, Pod probably went with him. ‘And Pod had something to do. The Hound has been around I’m sure, but sitting in a room with just him was depressing.’ 

‘Poor you,’ Brienne said, although it was hard to feel sorry for someone just because they’d had to sit around on their own for a week. And he hadn’t been alone – there would have been cameramen and hair and make-up people around. ‘Such a hard life you lead.’ 

‘I’m glad you understand,’ Jaime said. ‘So, come on then, tell me what’s happened. You’ve over the worst of it aren’t you?’ 

‘Just a dinner with everyone tomorrow,’ Brienne said, nodding. ‘And I thought you already knew everything that happened?’ 

‘Usually I do,’ Jaime admitted, leaning forward over the table. ‘But Tyrion seems to be enjoying lording this small bit of power over me. He likes me to experience it with the public every week.’ 

‘Then I probably shouldn’t tell you anything either,’ Brienne said, hiding a small smile. If Jaime was going to watch the episode it didn’t matter to her what he knew beforehand. But winding him up was fun. 

He groaned. ‘Ah, come on. Surely there must be some small detail you can give me?’ He was smiling at her, and it would be so easy to get lost in this. To let herself get carried away, and lean forward, to make eye contact and smile and laugh. To let the noise of the bar dampen the worries, and the darkness black out the reality. 

‘Pod’s didn’t go as well as he hoped,’ Brienne said, leaning back a little to keep her distance. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore, but space was good. Space was needed. ‘Tyrion’s was an experience, Bronn’s was interesting, and The Hound’s got better.’ 

‘Those are the broad strokes; I asked for details. And you didn’t mention my father.’ 

‘Yes,’ Brienne said, taking a large sip of her drink. ‘I don’t wish to talk about him.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Tends to ruin the mood, and I’m having such a nice evening.’ 

‘Are you?’ Jaime asked, his voice low, and Brienne felt the heat pool in her stomach, and the flush on her face. 

He was a flirt. It was a well-known fact about him, and she needed to remember that. It didn’t mean anything; it couldn’t. 

‘Don’t you ruin it,’ she said briskly. ‘Your father took us to the Lannister building. Showed us all around, including Sansa,’ she said, watching as Jaime winced. They hadn’t spoken about what he’d done to Sansa’s family. 

‘That wasn’t a nice thing to do,’ he said quietly, his good hand tapping on the table top. 

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘It wasn’t.’ She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. 

She moved on. 

‘He didn’t seem to like any of us,’ she said. ‘Which is weird, since from what I’ve heard he hand a hand in choosing most of the contestants.’ 

‘I think he wants Margaery to win,’ confessed Jaime. ‘The Tyrell’s are a powerful family in the one sector we haven’t managed to break into; high power sales. None of our branches deals with perfume, or jewelry, or fashion. If we got married, even if only for a little while, he’d be invited to the parties and could get a foot in the door.’ 

‘Well,’ Brienne said, the image of Margaery and Jaime getting married entering her head. ‘You’d make an excellent looking couple.’ 

‘Why, Miss Tarth, I believe that was almost a compliment,’ Jaime said, placing a hand over his heart. ‘And all this time I believed you didn’t care.’ 

She gave him a look and took a sip of her drink. She wasn’t entering into this conversation. Jaime seemed to have the knack of pulling a tiny thread in a topic and tugging till there was a great big hole exposed. ‘Do you really think I’m exceptionally good looking?’ he asked, grinning. 

‘You look better with a beard,’ she said, desperately wishing she could change the topic and choosing the least problematic way she could see to get out of it. ‘But you’d have to shave before the wedding. Margaery won’t like it. She always hated the one Renly had, preferring him clean shaven.’ 

‘It doesn’t matter what she likes,’ Jaime said dismissively, ‘Cersei’s going to win, although I guess I will have to shave – she doesn’t like the beard either.’ 

‘You can’t possibly know that Cersei is going to win,’ Brienne said, giving a small laugh. She remembered the conversation she’d overheard at the medieval feast. Margaery was a contender; probably even more than Cersei. 

Jaime wasn’t laughing; his face had gone slack and he stared at her. 

‘What?’ he asked, his voice croaky. 

‘I said you can’t possibly know that Cersei is going to win,’ she said, laughing again. She looked at his face. The smile fell off hers. ‘Unless you can,’ she said. 

And suddenly everything fell into place. ‘I need some air,’ she said, getting to her feet and crossing the room. 

‘Brienne,’ Jaime said behind her, and she knew he was following. She didn’t slow down. She wanted to hear this. All the previous conversations were swirling around her head, little bits and pieces clicking into place one by one; Cersei’s face when she saw Oathkeeper; Tyrion’s digs about Jaime not liking animals, because of course he was in on it; Jaime’s anger at Brienne bad mouthing Cersei last week. 

Once she reached the outside, she took a seat on a small wooden bench set just outside the doors. Jaime sat down at the other end; she could sense his gaze on her face. 

‘Tell me what the hell this has all been about Jaime,’ she said, her voice carrying in the silent open air. There wasn’t even a breeze. 

‘When my mother was pregnant with me she befriended a woman in one of her classes. I don’t recall which one. This woman was on her own, with her first baby coming, and she didn’t have anyone. My mother was a kind soul and she took pity on this woman. Later on, this woman confessed that she was having a Lannister baby, and had come to find my mother; she wanted her to try and help persuade Tywin to help provide for her baby. The baby’s father had already turned his back on her, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go,' Jamie said. 

A car passed by them, the headlights causing shadows to turn solid for a brief second, before fading back to black again. 

‘Her and my mother became firm friends anyway, and stayed friends after me and Cersei were born. We grew up with each other; it was natural that we would fall in love. We were each other’s first friends. First loves. First kisses. First everything. She was Cersei Smyth and I was Jaime Lannister, but it didn’t matter. We were two kids who spent a lot of time together. I’ve loved her since before I even knew what love was.’ His voice throbbed with some kind of emotion, and Brienne wondered why she was putting herself through this. Did it matter what the story was? Him and Cersei had cooked this entire thing up between them for whatever reason; she didn’t need to be any more involved than she already was. 

‘Did you ever find out who Cersei’s father was?’ Brienne asked. She knew there were hundreds of Lannisters, all over, although only three of them were top tier, and everyone else fell below them. 

‘No,’ Jaime said. Brienne didn’t want to ask the question in her head but it was banging against her brain and refused to be pushed to the back. 

‘And she went straight to your mother before anyone?’ Brienne said. She hesitated. ‘Have you ever thought...?’ She trailed off not wanting to ask Jaime if he’d ever considered that he might have been sleeping with his half sister for years. 

‘My father would never have cheated on my mother,’ Jaime said sharply. ‘But no, we haven’t ever found out which Lannister her father is.’ 

‘Go on,’ Brienne said. ‘Continue.’ 

‘We were together when we were teenagers. We were going to be together. I brought a ring.’ He seemed ashamed of this fact. ‘My father hated that we were together; he’s always said that Cersei takes after her mother, and that they’re both gold diggers.’ There was an angry edge to his voice, and Brienne didn’t blame him. If she loved someone and her father insulted them all the time, she’d be angry too. ‘And then Robert came to my father. They’d known each other for a while, although I never learned the details on how. Robert’s first girlfriend had decided to leave him; he’d been angry, and lashed out. He needed to make the stories go away and he came to my father. My father offered him Cersei. She’d always wanted to impress him, tried her hardest to prove to him that she was worthy of being a Lannister. He was going to give her a job in the company; but then he needed her for Robert. She was shunted into a relationship she didn’t want to be in.’ 

‘She must have wanted to be in it a little,’ Brienne said. Most of Cersei’s introduction to the world had happened when Brienne was too busy wrapped up in her own life to pay attention to MP’s new girlfriends. 

‘She agreed to one date,’ Jaime said, ‘and they got mobbed by photographers. The next day her face was splashed all over the papers. She’s always liked the attention.’ 

‘It must have been hard for you,’ Brienne said carefully. 

‘She told me that since we’d only ever been with each other then we couldn’t be sure how we felt. That we needed to be with other people and if we came back to each other then we were truly meant to be.’ 

Brienne wondered if now was the time to bring up Euron. 

‘A few months later she announced she was engaged. I couldn’t show the media how I felt; they’d never known about us. I tried to get over her for a few years, but I couldn’t ever completely let her go.’ 

Jaime talked on and on about Cersei. How they’d tried to stay away from each other, but kept falling back into each other’s beds – sometimes just for a night, sometimes for months at a time when Robert was away. Cersei called it off each time, telling him that they needed to stop and she needed to be a good wife. He told Brienne how devastated he’d been when he found out she was pregnant with Robert’s children. He knew they were Robert’s even before they’d come out with black hair, and even before the DNA test Cersei insisted on doing even though there was barely any chance they could be Jaime's. 

‘Then everything hit the fan with Robert. We couldn’t be seen together for a while in case any of the papers picked it up. I tried to distract myself by getting involved with...something else, and then everything spiraled. After my accident I didn’t want to see anyone. I was wallowing in self-pity. Tyrion got her to visit me, and she was the same as ever; she was the same Cersei I’d always loved. I wanted to get better for her. So we could be together finally. After all the years of hurt and heartbreak, we finally had our shot. I had to get better first. And then my father came to me, after I was getting well again, to tell me about this show. I couldn’t refuse. But I needed Cersei. So we agreed to get her into the pool of contestants and then we found a way to make sure she’d win – Bronn,’ Jaime added to Brienne’s confused look. ‘He’s one of the best IT hackers there is. We’re lucky he works for us.’ 

‘It was all fake,’ Brienne said to herself, staring at nothing. It wasn’t the fact that Jaime was even more off limits than she’d imagined; that had only ever been a split-second fantasy. But she’d wasted four weeks of her life so far on this pointless, pointless exercise. 

And all she’d end up with was heartache. 

‘Brienne,’ Jaime said, ‘I’m sorry. We didn’t think anyone would get hurt; as you said, nobody else in the contest wanted to marry me.’ 

Brienne pulled herself together, then pulled herself up, till she was standing. Jaime hurried to his feet too, walking after her as she made for her bike. 

‘Nobody else does want to marry you,’ she said softly. 

‘You seem mad,’ he said. She let out a bitter laugh; there was no way she was going to admit her silly crush on him. Not even under torture. 

‘Not because I want to marry you,’ she scoffed. If there was a flicker of pain behind his eyes she pretended not to notice. ‘This contest has taken up four weeks of my life, weeks I could have used to be doing other stuff. Instead I haven’t even been in contact with a phone, let alone my e-mails. Everything had to be paused for these weeks, just so I could assist you and your true love getting married?’ She shook her head. ‘Because you couldn’t stand up to your father, so you had to arrange this whole elaborate scheme?’ 

‘Standing up to my father is not something you do lightly,’ Jaime said, anger is his voice now. ‘If you go to war with him you better be prepared to win because otherwise it’s not worth it. I’ve learned that the hard way over the years, and I couldn’t fight with him about this any more.’ 

‘Standing up to Tywin isn’t that hard,’ Brienne said. ‘I did it today after all.’ 

‘What are you talking about?’ Jaime asked. ‘Why?’ 

Brienne shrugged; she didn’t owe Jaime anything anymore. 

‘If they put it in you’ll see everything in the show on Saturday,’ she said. 

‘What did he threaten you with?’ Jaime asked. ‘I’ll sort it.’ 

Brienne could tell him about how Tywin had threatened her father’s business; but what would be the point? Jaime wouldn’t be any help and she didn’t want to feel like she owed him anything. 

She told him something else instead. 

‘He told me he was going to vote me off the show on Saturday,’ she said, swinging one of her legs over Oathkeeper, and getting ready to drive away. ‘And don’t bother trying to fix it; we both know it won’t make any difference anyway.’ 

* 

Margaery, Sansa, Ygritte, Yara, Daenerys and Missandei stood inside the hallway, arms crossed over their chests. 

Brienne stared at them, a rabbit caught in headlights. She’d never encountered one person on her nights out, and to have the majority of the house’s inhabitants, waiting for her, was unnerving. Her face was flaming, and she twisted her helmet in her hands. 

‘What are you doing?’ she asked after a minute long silence. She’d been so concerned with everything she’d learned this evening that she hadn’t noticed the living room light was still on. 

‘We were about to ask you the same question,’ Sansa said. 

‘I went out,’ Brienne said simply. She could stay pressed up against the front door, but her body was wary, so she made her way into the living room, hearing their footsteps behind her. 

She was going to have to tell them. About her nights out, and tonight’s conversation with Jaime; they deserved to know they’d been lied to, too. 

‘We gathered that,’ Ygritte said. They still stood, staring at her, and then Ygritte dropped her arms and flashed her a grin. ‘We didn’t mean to be so scary, but we weren’t sure which one of you was going to come in. Margaery was sure it was you, but it could have been Cersei or Ros.’ 

‘They’re not here?’ Brienne said, then mentally kicked herself. She could see neither of the women were here. 

‘Nope,’ Yara said. She sank to the floor, still keeping a watchful eye on Brienne. 

‘What’s going on?’ Brienne said repeating her earlier question. She wanted answers – had something terrible happened and she’d missed it? Was everyone aware that she was breaking a fundamental rule of the show? 

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Sansa said, taking a seat on the sofa next to Brienne. ‘I’d been speaking to Theon all evening on the phone, and my parents, and my mind was racing, and I was still angry and sleep was impossible. So I came down to make a hot chocolate. Thought it would soothe me a little.’ 

‘I heard her creeping out of her room and came to see what was going on,’ Margaery said, also taking a seat. ‘We came down here together. I wasn’t sleepy either, and we thought we’d come and find you to see if you wanted to watch a movie or something – it wasn’t that late, and I know you find it difficult to fall asleep.’ 

‘They woke me and Yara up as they came past our rooms to get to yours,’ Ygritte said, ‘and they invited us to join them. So we did, but when we got to your room, you weren’t there. We came downstairs, found these two already on the sofa talking,’ she said gesturing to Daenerys and Missandei, ‘and neither of them had seen you. We kind of felt that something wasn’t right, so we went to find Cersei and Ros and see if they’d noticed anything; but they’re not in their rooms either.’ 

‘We’ve known Cersei has been sneaking out for a while,’ Margaery said. ‘She takes the car out the front all the time. And Ros isn’t subtle- she always slams the door on her way out.’ 

Brienne had heard the door a few times, but she’d put it to the back of her mind. What the other women were doing was none of her business. ‘You’re not as subtle as you think either,’ Margaery added. ‘Oathkeeper isn’t as quiet as you’d like it to be.’ 

‘You’ve all known for weeks about me leaving?’ Brienne asked. Only Margaery nodded. 

‘I’m a light sleeper, and that bike has a powerful engine.’ She shrugged. ‘But you seemed like you needed the escape and I knew if I asked, you’d clam up about it.’ 

‘Why tonight?’ Brienne asked. ‘If you’ve all known about us leaving the house then why confront us tonight?’ 

‘Group mentality?’ Yara suggested. ‘Or that we’ll be down to the final four the night after tomorrow and if we don’t talk now some of us will be left wondering what secrets we’d missed.’ 

Brienne nodded, but she wasn’t really taking their words in. She was thinking about Cersei, and how she wasn’t in the house. 

Which meant she had to be with Jaime. 

Of course they saw each other. As often as they could, probably. Meeting at the hotel Jaime was staying in Brienne would bet, and then a new thought occurred to her and she felt sick. 

Did Jaime leave Cersei in his bed to come and meet Brienne? Or did he text Cersei when he was on his way back from The Bear Pit, his ego inflated by an ugly looking girl with an obvious crush? 

Neither of them were the better option. 

‘Brienne?’ Sansa asked, laying a hand over Brienne’s. ‘What’s up? You seem a little out of it.’ 

‘I,’ Brienne said, not knowing where to go next. She had to tell them. ‘It’s a fix,’ she blurted out, meeting each of their gazes. ‘I’m sorry. This whole thing has been a waste of time.’ 

‘What are you telling us?’ Ygritte asked. She inched forward, a frown on her face. 

‘This show,’ Brienne said. She swallowed. ‘It’s a fix. I found out tonight. Cersei and Jaime have been dating for years, but Tywin doesn’t like her. He won’t let them be together so they cooked this whole thing up between them. She’s going to win.’ 

She stared at the faces around her, but apart from Daenerys none of them seemed shocked or angry. ‘It’s been a waste!’ she said. ‘This whole thing; we’ve been lied to and made to beat each other up, and constantly think about how we’re presenting ourselves and it’s all been for nothing.’ 

Brienne felt empty. Drained. She didn’t want to marry Jaime – that was too big a step, for her small flicking crush – but she hated being made a fool of, and she couldn’t stop picturing Cersei and Jaime in bed together, laughing at the rest of them. 

‘Are you sure?’ Sansa asked. ‘Cersei is going to win?’ 

‘Yes,’ Brienne said. ‘He was very clear about that.’ Margaery gave her a fleeting glance but none of the other seemed to be paying her words close attention. 

‘Thanks the Gods for that,’ Sansa said, laughing and breaking the tension that had been building. She grasped her hands together. ‘I can’t win! Even if the public think it will be funny to vote for me, or Petyr wanted to get his drama fill by having me by rushed from the wedding, I can’t win!’ There was relief on her face the likes which Brienne had never seen. 

‘I guess,’ she said. All the other girls were grinning at each other, although Daenerys looked a little fake. ‘Don’t any of you care?’ 

‘Why should I give a damn?’ Yara said. ‘My father got his free publicity and I’ve fulfilled his request to give dating a chance.’ 

‘And our hearts belong to someone else entirely,’ Missandei said sharing a smile with Ygritte. ‘Grey - my love - was so worried when he visited me – said that the public would be stupid not to vote for someone as beautiful and good and kind as me.’ She blushed a little. ‘But he doesn’t need to be worried anymore.’ 

‘To be honest I wouldn’t be surprised if Grandmother had something like fixing the vote in her mind either,’ Margaery said. ‘She didn’t seem worried at all that I might win, but seemed delighted with the press coverage. I asked her about the articles saying I’m a front runner, but she just laughed them off like I had nothing to be worried about. There’s no way she’d let me marry a Lannister, not even for a few hours.’ 

‘Daenerys?’ Brienne asked, looking at the silver haired woman. Daenerys had wanted Jaime after all. ‘How do you feel?’ 

‘Like I need to get some rest,’ Daenerys said. ‘Please, excuse me ladies.’ She nodded her goodnights to them, then left the room. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t seemed devastated – possibly she was just hiding her emotions. She was a good actor, she’d proved that before. 

But somehow Brienne didn’t think so. Whatever Daenerys feelings for Jaime were, they’d obviously worn off somewhat. 

So that just left Brienne. Brienne who was stupid enough to think, to believe, to hope, just for one shiny shivering second... 

‘I’m tired too,’ she said, standing. ‘I am sorry about not telling you I needed to escape,’ she said. These women had become her friends, and she’d hated what she was doing to them – but she’d been living for those stolen moments in The Bear Pit. 

‘No hard feelings,’ Yara said and Ygritte nodded behind her. ‘To be honest, I don’t care what anyone here is doing; you do you and all that. I think Petyr might be rubbing off on me; I’m living for the drama.’ 

‘Gods, what a disturbing image,’ Ygritte said and the two laughed to themselves. 

‘I’ll walk you up,’ Margaery said, standing too. Sansa was hugging a pillow to her chest, too caught up in her happiness to think of anything else. 

‘There’s no need,’ Brienne said, but she knew there was no point; Margaery had made her mind up and nobody would be able to change it. 

Once they’d settled into Brienne’s room, Margaery came right to the point. 

‘You’re meeting Jaime, aren’t you?’ she said, softly as though if she spoke any louder Brienne would bolt. ‘You can deny it if you want, but I can tell. Your entire attitude towards him has changed, and there’s no way that would have happened if you’d just been seeing those clips they play us. You’re not so easily brought.’ 

Brienne sat down on her bed, sighing. It seemed her secrets were well and truly out. 

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The night of my brother’s anniversary, when I saw you all in the living room, swapping clothes, I just needed to not be here. And Oathkeeper was outside...it was too much for me not to take advantage. I drove around and found a bar.’ 

Margaery let her talk. She listened as Brienne told her about the fist night, and how the next day she’d thought Jaime had been Petyr’s spy. She didn’t move as Brienne told her about the 3am mornings, and the how they felt the same way about how their fathers treated them in response to being the heirs neither of them wanted. 

Brienne told Margaery everything. About speaking to Cersei’s daughter; how she was still wondering if Jaime was only befriending her because he wanted Oathkeeper back that badly and thought Brienne would be easier to talk round if they were friends; about how Jaime had slipped up tonight and how Brienne felt humiliated all over again, even though it was a completely different situation from her previous relationship. 

‘I’m a terrible person,’ Brienne said finally. ‘Terrible and sad and pathetic and ridiculous.’ She wasn’t going to cry – she was rarely a crier, only in truly devastating times – but there was a catch in the back of her throat, that she tried to swallow away. 

‘Brienne, it’s okay,’ Margaery said. She kept her hands on her lap and Brienne was grateful she wasn’t trying to reach out to her right now. 

‘I know it will be,’ Brienne said. ‘I’m a big girl. I’ll get over it.’ 

‘I like the sentiment, but that’s not what I meant,’ Margaery said. ‘I mean it’s okay to have a crush. On whoever you want.’ 

‘But -,’ Brienne said, before she was cut off. 

‘No,’ Margaery said. ‘It’s always bothered me about you, but I never thought I could say anything since we weren’t that close. This contest had made us closer, and I’m going to say this now.’ She turned till she was facing Brienne, brown eyes staring into blue. ‘It’s okay for you to have feelings for someone. No one will think any less of you because of who you fancy. It’s okay for you to like Jaime. It was okay for you to fancy Renly.’ 

‘Renly was yours,’ Brienne said. ‘And Jaime is Cersei’s. And just look at them – of course it’s embarrassing for me to admit I have feelings for people so far out of my league.’ 

‘No,’ Margaery said again. ‘You can’t help who you fall for, and honestly I don’t blame you. We all know I thought Renly was gorgeous, and I’ll admit it – Jaime's very good looking, too. There’s no point denying it. But you are not any of the things you said you were because you like a guy. It’s also okay to be sad,’ Margaery added quietly. ‘You have feelings for Jaime and even if your hopes weren’t that high in the first place – which, quite honestly is ridiculous, because literally everyone can see that you would make an adorable couple – hearing about him and Cersei is devastating. You don’t need to hide it.’ 

‘Sansa would never forgive me,’ Brienne said quietly. 

‘Sansa doesn’t get an opinion on who you love,’ Margaery said. ‘I love the girl to pieces, but her view point has always been slightly skewered when it comes to Jaime – rightly so, I won’t deny that. But everyone I’ve ever spoken to has always maintained that Tywin was behind the entire thing, and that he didn’t even let Jaime know all of his plans until it was too late. I truly believe Jaime thought he was trying to help save the Stark’s company – but of course when it all came out, he had no choice but to play along and pretend he knew all about it.’ 

‘None of this matters,’ Brienne said. ‘He’s with Cersei.’ 

‘Yeah, that sucks,’ Margaery said. ‘And getting over him will take a while, and it will hurt like hell for the next few weeks or months or however long it takes. But don’t think all those things about your self, okay? You’re allowed to feel things for people, Brienne. You’re allowed to hope that one day, there will be one guy it will all work out with. You’re not stupid, or weak for wanting that either, or because you took a few moments these last few weeks for what you wanted. You should take every moment – anything could happen. One day the guy you love could realise he’s gay and want your brother. It sucks, and it hurts and it takes time to get over it. But you will, and those moments you two had did and do mean something.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Brienne said. ‘I can’t promise that I’m going to listen to anything you’ve said, or stop beating myself for wanting a guy I knew I had no chance with, but I do appreciate you all the same.’ 

‘Any time,’ Margaery said, standing. ‘Just think about it a little tonight, okay? And now, it is very much time for us to go to bed. We’ve got that F&F dinner tomorrow, and you need your best game face on for seeing Tywin again.’ 

‘That at least we agree on,’ Brienne said. Margaery leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. 

‘You’ll find someone someday who can see how special you are,’ Margaery said as she left the room. 

Brienne sat back down on her bed. It had been a crap week, and a crap day, and an even crappier night. 

But she had an awful lot to think about. 

* 

Brienne wondered who had been tasked with coming up with the seating plan. And then she wondered if Petyr had offered them a raise. He’d be very impressed with what they’d caused. 

Yara and Ygritte were down at the end of the table, Pod and Bronn next to them. Then came Daenerys and Missandei, sitting next to The Hound and Tyrion. Sansa was next to Tyrion, and Margaery next to The Hound. 

Brienne was next to Sansa, opposite Tywin. And Cersei sat right beside Jaime's father, her entire body turned towards him. The starter had been eaten in almost silence down their end of the table, with Cersei trying to engage Tywin in conversation. She’d asked him all about the high society families they both knew, and asked him to update her on any of goings on in the business world. He gave short answers, and Brienne sat there, focusing so much on getting her spoon into her soup and then to her mouth, that she couldn’t look up for anything. She wasn’t afraid of Tywin Lannister – the stories were much worse than him in person – but she’d had her say. She had no intention of carrying their argument over. 

There was a loud burst of laughter from the other end of the table, and Brienne shot them a swift glance. She wished she had been down there with them; she could joke with Pod, and chat with The Hound. 

Down this end Tyrion and Sansa were making stilted conversation that trailed off into silence until Tyrion thought of another titbit and Margaery was making 'help me' eyes at Brienne across the table. Margaery was trying to engage The Hound in conversation, but his answered grunts were making her frustrated. 

They were just finished up the main course – lamb and potatoes, which was really too warm a meal for such a hot evening, and the ‘ravens’ were out in full force refreshing wine glasses and providing the table with extra napkins. Brienne wondered how the audience would be able to see the contestants, with the ravens’ wings in the way. 

It also didn’t help that Ramsay was sitting at the head of the table on their end, his camera trained down the middle of table, sometimes turning to focus on one person for a minute or so. He was glowering at them all, his black curly hair almost frizzing with unresolved anger. 

Apparently, Myranda had moved on. Margaery had told Brienne this morning that photos of Myranda with a guy had been posted online. They’d looked close with her hands in his pockets, and Ramsay was not happy about this situation. 

Brienne was a little surprised. She’d assumed that Myranda and Ramsay had been a quick fuck and nothing more; a way to pass the time on the show. But Ramsay actually looked upset, even if he was hiding it as anger. 

She toyed with the last few bits of meat on her plate, wondering how long she would have to stick this out for. They’d been here for around an hour and a half already, and dessert should be out soon. After that she knew they’d be forced to sit through coffee and chocolates. The chocolates had arrived earlier, from a fancy London company who were delighted they’d be getting free advertising. They’d sent over a few fancy boxes of chocolates and the women had spent the day stuffing themselves with the chocolates and watching crappy movies on the TV. 

Cersei, once again, was the only person not to join them. Brienne tried not to think about what she was doing, up in her room. Probably texting Jaime, telling him they were safe. 

Jaime had to have told Cersei that Brienne knew. And Cersei was smart; she would have figured out that Brienne would tell everyone else. But everyone was still acting the same – Cersei threw her horrid looks, but that was nothing new. And all the women, so unbothered were they about this whole thing being a fix, hadn’t treated Cersei any differently either. 

The biggest thing was that Cersei hadn’t come to Brienne yet. If Jaime had told her about Brienne finding out, he must also have told her about their meetings in The Bear Pit. He could have lied, Brienne supposed, but she had a feeling that Jaime was the kind of person who would spill everything once the opportunity presented itself. And Cersei was definitely the type of person who’d have something to say about another woman meeting her boyfriend late at night, even if she wasn’t a threat. 

There had been nothing. Jaime might have talked her out of it, Brienne supposed, but she’d been constantly on guard today, waiting for Cersei to get her alone. 

Then again, maybe there was no point. Cersei was going to win, going to marry Jaime. She didn’t need to worry about anything else. 

‘Grandmother says the company is doing very well,’ Margaery said, turning to Tywin. ‘When I saw her at the party. Seems this show is doing wonders for everyone.’ Cersei’s eyes turned a dark green, and she stabbed a piece of potato forcefully. 

‘For some more than others, I would say,’ Tywin said, and Brienne could feel his cold eyes staring straight at her, but she refused to engage. 

‘You must be happy with how it’s going though?’ Margaery pressed. ‘I mean you’re going to be gaining a daughter-in-law soon, isn’t that a fun thought?’ 

‘Depends on who that daughter-in-law ends up being,’ said Tywin, and Brienne risked a look at Cersei, who was now gripping her fork so hard her knuckles were white. Cersei clicked her fingers for a raven to once again come and fill up her wine glass, and Brienne spared a thought for the impressive amount she’d already put away. Her and Tyrion seemed to have drunk the most tonight, although neither of them seemed drunk. 

There was a yapping sound from below her chair, and Brienne edged her foot out, gently moving Joffrey away from underneath the table. He’d been hanging around, begging for scraps since they’d all sat down, but Cersei insisted he be here, telling Ramsay that he was practically part of their close-knit family now, too, and he’d be missed if he wasn’t seen. 

‘Which one of us would you pick?’ Margaery asked, giving a little giggle and playing into the Margaery Tyrell she was portrayed as in the media a little too well. ‘If you had to chose someone to walk down that aisle to marry your son tomorrow, which one would you pick?’ The table had grown quiet as they all listened to Tywin’s answer. 

He’d picked some of the remaining women to be on this show after all. He must have wanted one of them to be with his son, even if only for a publicity marriage. 

‘I’m afraid my dear, it wouldn’t do well to answer your question; and in any case, it’s not for me to decide. That is left up to the public, and I trust they’ll make the right choice.’ 

This was all so fake. So stupid, and so ridiculous. Brienne might be feeling a little better about her crush on Jaime after her talk with Margaery last night, but she couldn’t turn her feelings about this situation off. This whole thing was staged and they were mental for all going along and acting like it was going to end any other way. Talking like any of them had a chance, when they didn’t. Sansa was still wearing black every day, even though she and Theon had a date arranged for when she finally got out of here, and she knew she couldn’t win. 

Brienne hadn’t wanted to be thrust into the public eye. She’d wanted to do it quietly, on her terms. Maybe stage a photoshoot where she could have her hair and make-up done by a professional, and make the announcement on her father’s website. But her father had insisted, saying he’d been approached by Petyr, and it would help the public get to know her. 

She wondered why she couldn’t just run the business behind the scenes; why a face needed to be associated. Her father didn’t make public appearances, or get photographed every time he stepped outside. He ran the business his way, and hadn’t being here proved that nobody associated his face with his business, since nobody even knew who he was? 

According to him, it was because it would help the push the brand a little further. Everything was online now, and anyway people would find out one day. And then he’d hit her with the killer – asking her if she wanted what was best for their business. She knew doing this would help them, and she would be being selfish if she didn’t take this chance when it was offered to her. 

‘Are we boring you Miss Tarth?’ Tywin asked, and she snapped her eyes up to his. She’d been rubbing her head, trying to prevent the headache she could feel coming. The ravens were now gathering their dinner plates up, and dessert would be out soon, but she still had at least an hour left before she could escape. She wasn’t bothered about appearing rude, but politeness forbade her from walking out right now. 

‘It’s been a long week,’ she replied. 

‘If you found this week hard to handle, you’re going to find the next few months of your life completely harrowing,’ Tywin said. ‘I haven’t forgotten what I promised you yesterday. My people are already looking into it.’ 

Brienne longed to be the type of person who would have a witty comeback ready – except she did. (She wanted to tell him that of course he hadn’t forgotten, it only happened yesterday after all, and he wasn’t actually as old as he looked). What she actually longed to be was the kind of person who said those things out loud. 

‘What’s this?’ Tyrion asked, leaning towards them. ‘Have I missed something?’ 

‘Just a small disagreement we had yesterday,’ Tywin said smoothly. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’ 

‘I think I know you better than that, father,’ Tyrion said. ‘Brienne? What’s going on?’ 

‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she said. She met Tyrion’s eyes; he looked worried. ‘I promise.’ 

The desserts were being served now, afternoon tea style platters of small cakes set down at each end of the table for people to help themselves. Brienne, who’d rather had enough of chocolate, selected a berry tart. Sansa reached for the lemon cake, looking delighted and Brienne knew it was a form of apology from Petyr; the treats were Sansa’s favourite, but they were difficult to make perfectly. Somebody had been paid a lot to bake these. 

‘Well, I propose a toast,’ Tyrion said, finally clearing his expression, and gesturing down both ends of the table, his wine glass raised. ‘One of you delightful ladies will be marrying my brother in two weeks' time – gods help you. Or him perhaps, depending on who wins.’ He flashed a grin in Yara’s direction, to show he was kidding then downed the rest of his glass, as everyone else lifted theirs up, echoing his toast. 

Brienne tipped hers slightly towards Cersei, but not enough that anyone would notice. It felt petty, and she only felt a little better as she put her glass down. ‘Imagine that,’ Tyrion said. ‘A wedding. You know, I feel like this whole thing has gone on for so long, that I’d almost forgotten what the end point was.’ 

‘Have you heard anything about the wedding?’ Ygritte asked. ‘I asked at my interview if they had any details – I thought they might like some suggestions about the entertainment, and I was prepared to recommend a great singer – but they were really tight lipped.’ 

‘I know it will take place in a wedding venue not far from here,’ Tyrion said. ‘It’s a beautiful place, a tiny little barn tucked away right in the middle of London. They’re going to decorate it with lots of lights and there will be a lot of red and gold,’ he said nodding to his father. The Lannister company logo was made up of a red and gold lion, and Brienne couldn’t help but think of a UK passport every time she saw it. 

‘Sounds perfect,’ Ygritte said. 

‘And what about the dress?’ Missandei asked. ‘I love wedding dresses. All that detail, and all those stories about women finding ‘the one,’ and knowing it’s their dress instantly.’ She signed dreamily. 

Tyrion frowned a little. ‘I’m not sure about the dress. It’s a surprise, as far as I’m aware, although Petyr keeps dropping little hints. It sounds like he’s got a fantastic designer up his sleeve. He almost hops whenever he talks about it, and it must be something special to make Petyr Baelish excited. I gather the company aren’t known for their wedding dresses.’ 

A fantastic designer, not known for making wedding dresses. 

Or maybe, not known for making white dresses? 

A reason why Brienne Tarth of all people had been approached for this show. She’d never been able to make sense of it. 

And the reason Petyr hadn’t been as hard on her as he could have been – there had been no consequences for her letting Oberyn into the party on Saturday, even though Petyr had clearly been furious with her. 

Brienne put her fork down, threw her head back and let out a gut-wrenching belly laugh that had tears escaping down her face. All the tension of the past few weeks and all her nerves seemed to float away in this perfect moment of clarity. 

‘Did I miss the joke?’ Tyrion asked. ‘If you want, I do know a great one about walking into a bar with a honeycomb and a jackass...no?’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Brienne said, wiping underneath her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘No,’ Tywin said. ‘Please do share the joke with the rest of us.’ 

‘It’s not really a joke,’ she said. ‘But I think I know who the designer of the wedding dress is.’ 

She was stupid, to not have figured this out before. How could she have thought that the show had wanted her? No. Petyr had wanted her father and his company, and it was probably down to her dad that she was in this contest at all; he’d made some kind of a deal to get her on the show. A dress for a daughter. How perfect. 

Sansa’s mouth was open with shock, and Brienne gave her a nod, confirming what she’d just realised too as their eyes met. 

‘How could you possible know that?’ Tywin said. ‘Is this where you admit to me that you and Petyr are close friends and he tells you everything?’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said, and here it was. The moment she’d been waiting for her; her father was right, and this was too good an opportunity to pass up. 

‘Please can I?’ Sansa burst out with. ‘Please?’ She was doing her doe eyed look to Brienne, hands grasped together at her chest, eyes shining. 

‘Be my guest,’ Brienne said, settling back to watch. She wanted to see every single second of realisation on Tywin’s face. 

‘Selwyn Tarth is more commonly known by another name these days,’ Sansa said. ‘The Evenstar - or ES as he signs it. The multi-billionaire, founder, creator and CEO of the exclusive Sapphire brand.’ She turned to Tyrion. ‘You remember the bag I had for my task two? The Sapphire?’ She nodded to Brienne. ‘That’s her father’s company.’ 

It was chaos. It was loud. 

But it was fucking amazing. 

Tywin, probably for the first time in his life, turned a splotchy red, before all the colour drained from his face. Cersei had dropped her dessert spoon onto the grass and didn’t seem to notice that Joffrey was licking the cream from it. Down the other end of the table everyone had broken into talk, Yara and Ygritte standing up to suddenly try and get a better look at Brienne. 

Even Ramsay had been shocked out of his anger, and was gazing at Brienne wide eyed. 

‘I assume,’ she said, over the noise, ‘that my father will be making the wedding dress. He didn’t mention it to me, but it all makes sense now.’ 

‘You’re a multi-billionaire?’ Tyrion said. He sounded like he was holding back a laugh. 

‘I’m a multi-billionaire heiress,’ Brienne corrected. She’d only ever taken money for doing her day’s work, even if her father was a little bit too over the top when it came to Christmas and birthday presents. 

‘I thought you had a homeware company,’ Tyrion said. ‘A small, homeware company.’ 

‘We did,’ Brienne said simply. ‘Even though it wasn’t really ever that small – we have a loyal customer base, and dad was already a millionaire when he was 30. He carried it on for years, not looking for anything bigger. But after my brother died, my father needed something else to focus on. He went to his office every day, and created the Sapphire blue. He thought it would look best as a bag, and he made mock ups. It wasn’t until everyone around him was telling him how good it looked that he realised he had something special. He put a high price on it, and was amazed when it sold. He started making more, the demand grew, and it’s just grown more and more since then.’ 

In truth the last twenty years had been mad. They’d always been well off, but never in this league. When the Sapphire bags had started to sell, they’d saved the money, fearing a crash that never came. They took a few years away from the business when Brienne’s mother became ill, and when they came back, the business had expanded even more than they could’ve imagined. The demand was so high it was hard to keep up; and that’s where the waiting list came in. 

A product with a waiting list was apparently even more desired, and they’d watched the list grow and grow. Selwyn, still a business man had trademarked the ‘Sapphire Blue’ of their bag, and it was such a pretty colour that people wanted it on more than a bag. They paid to have their walls painted it, or to have the easier made dresses and shirts that the Sapphire brand had started to crank out. 

Everyone was staring at her. 

‘The first time we met, I figured it out,’ Margaery said. ‘We were teenagers, and I marched right up to her and asked why looking at her eyes made me want to hide my credit card bill from my Grandmother.’ 

She could feel the camera zooming in on her eyes, and she blinked and looked away. She hated this part. Her eyes were almost the same shade – almost. But not quite. 

‘You can still try and wreck my company if you want,’ she told Tywin. ‘But I think it might be a little harder than you expected.’ She shrugged. ‘Feel free to retract your offer. Nobody will think any less of you.’ 

There were hands on her shoulders, and Brienne turned to find Yara at her back. 

‘You didn’t tell me you owned the Sapphire brand!’ she said. 

‘It’s not really how I introduce myself,’ Brienne explained, thinking back to their first day on the show. Yara had fawned over Sansa’s Sapphire dress, and she knew now that Yara wasn’t one to fawn. 

It was a testament to her father’s vision that even people like Yara were taken with Sapphire. 

‘Still, you could have said before I gushed all over it,’ Yara said. ‘I never would have done that if I’d known.’ 

‘Then I’m glad I didn’t,’ Brienne said, smiling at her. She knew Yara would never accept a bag from her, but she’d already thought of the perfect dress to send to Yara once they all got out of here. ‘It’s okay to love something. Even if it’s just because it’s pretty, or it’s a little shallow, or even if it doesn’t precisely fit the person you think you are.’ Out the corner of her eye she saw Margaery grin. 

‘This dinner is over,’ Tywin said, throwing his napkin onto the table and standing up. He strolled off to the house, not bothering to say goodbye to any of them. 

‘Do you still think he’s going to get rid of you tomorrow?’ Sansa asked. 

Judging by the look he’d given her as he stood up, fury on every line of his face, that she’d pulled the rug out from under him? 

‘I’d say so,’ she said. 

* 

She was bursting with adrenaline. Her secret was finally out, and tomorrow even the public would know. There was no way Petyr would allow that particular bit of gossip to stay out of the media for long, not when she’d announced it the way she had. Brienne wished she could call her father and tell him what had happened, but the thought died as quickly as it came. He’d told her to do it – he'd be confused as to why she was calling to tell him she’d followed his orders. And anyway, his assistant would be watching the show tomorrow and would inform him. 

No. There was only one person Brienne wanted to share her good mood with.  
It was a bad idea. She knew that. To take even one more night, with a man who was – to all intents and purposes – engaged. That was if Jaime was even at the bar, but she felt like he would be. He’d been there every night she had so far. 

And they were friends. Or had felt like they could be if she didn’t keep getting hurt by him and running out, leaving him behind. 

She shouldn’t go. She thought of those danger signs she’d pictured weeks ago, only now they were covered in giant ‘Keep Out’ tape, and Cersei was blocking the way too. 

But maybe he deserved to know before he found out with the public tomorrow. After all, it wasn’t just because Sapphire were Yara’s favourite brand that she’d spoken to Brienne after the news had come out. They were all supposed to be friends here, and Brienne had left a giant part of her life from them. The women were understandable a little hurt by her big revelation. Brienne hadn't told them not because she didn't trust them, but still.  
Brienne knew how it felt to be left out of secrets. 

Then again... 

She debated the pros and cons to herself, even while she was strapping the helmet to her head, and climbing onto Oathkeeper, praying the others wouldn’t be waiting up for her again tonight when she got back. 

* 

‘Back again?’ Davos said, as she strolled into the bar. There was nobody else in here tonight. ‘This is becoming an almost nightly habit.’ 

She shrugged, sliding into a seat at the bar. ‘Well we all have to have hobbies,’ she said smiling at him. ‘Do you still think I’m in rehab?’ she asked, noticing that his fingers had twitched towards the Vodka bottle, like he was just dying to hide it under the bar. 

‘I think,’ he said, placing a glass in front of her and grabbing a bottle of Coke from the fridge behind the bar, ‘that for being in a place you’re not supposed to leave, you do an awful good job of sneaking around.’ 

‘Not as good as I thought,’ she said. ‘The people I’m living with caught me out last night. They were all waiting for me when I got back.’ 

‘I hope they weren’t too mad,’ Davos said. 

‘No,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink. She really had to switch to diet. Between the vanilla lattes in the morning to keep her awake for filming, and the full fat Cokes here, she was constantly full of sugar and caffeine these days. ‘They weren’t mad at all. Just curious.’ 

‘Aye, well, that’s good then,’ Davos said, wiping the bar down with a startling white cloth. He hummed a little to himself. ‘So, tell me, what’s the story with you and that fella you keep meeting here? Is he really just after your bike?’ 

‘How do you know about that?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes. 

‘Well,’ Davos said. ‘And don’t get mad now, but he asked me to call him. After the first night, when you sat at that back table, he came strolling back in here and gave me his number. Said your bike used to be his and he wanted it back. Told me to call him if you came back. I wasn’t sure what to make of it,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I thought for a while maybe you were his ex, who’d stolen his bike, but you don’t quite fit the type. And, anyway, he told me he wanted to make you a generous offer, and I figured you wouldn’t offer to pay someone for something they’d stolen would you?’ 

‘I didn’t steal anything from him,’ she said, a little cooler than usual. So that was how Jaime had known she’d be here. He wasn’t coming and waiting for her, or even getting his driver to pass by in the hope of spotting Oathkeeper outside. 

Well, what had she been expecting? She’d already had the thought that this was all just a ruse to get his bike back. Maybe it was. And she was the stupid person who’d fallen for it, and she... 

She took a deep breath. And she was fine, and it was okay that she had feelings for Jaime Lannister, even if he was cocky, and secretive, and engaged, and too good looking for his own good. It didn’t make her a bad person. It wasn’t, after all, she mused, like she was going to act on her feelings and throw herself at him. The thought almost made her shudder with pre-embarrassment at the rejection she knew would come her way if she ever did try anything. 

But it was hard not to imagine Jaime, lounging on his hotel bed, Cersei probably cuddled up in his arms, waiting to see if Davos would call. ‘Have you called him tonight?’ she asked Davos. 

‘You’ve only just got here,’ he said, ‘and I’ve been stood chatting to you the whole time.’ 

‘You could have heard my bike and text him,’ she pointed out. ‘That’s how the people I live with figured me out.’ 

‘If I were a smarter man I’m sure I would have,’ Davos said. ‘In truth, I’ve been feeling a little guilty about it. I didn’t know your story, and for all I know I’ve been helping a man stalk a young woman. It’s been giving me sleepless nights, truth be told. My wife’s banished me to the sofa, I keep waking her up by tossing and turning.’ 

‘You can go back to the bed,’ Brienne said, and she smiled. It was hard to stay mad at Davos. ‘He’s not stalking me.’ She wanted to thank him for thinking someone like Jaime could ever stalk someone like Brienne, but she wouldn’t. Davos seemed like the kind of person who hadn’t even clocked the difference between them, and she wasn’t going to be the one to point it out. 

And, she had a feeling he’d just scoff at her anyway. ‘He does want to buy his bike back, but there’s a little more to the...the story.’ She hesitated over the word ‘story.’ Her and Jaime weren’t a story. They weren’t even a magazine. Or a poem. Or a picture. They were...something less. 

‘I won’t question you,’ Davos said. ‘Keeping my nose clean, that’s how I’ve made my business around here.’ Brienne turned to look around the empty bar. It was obviously clean, and there had always been someone else in here all the times she’d been in previously. Sure, The Bear Pit was a little tucked away, but people knew where it was; that night the band had been playing the small room had been packed. 

‘Where is everyone tonight?’ she asked, and Davos got a shifty look on his face. 

‘Ah, well,’ he said, avoiding her eyes, ‘see, there’s something else I have to tell you. It’s why I was checking that Jaime wasn’t a stalker.’ 

‘Okay,’ she said slowly. 

‘He wanted to see you,’ he said in a rush. ‘He came by at about seven. Asked if I’d be willing to close the place up for the evening and leave so that the two of you could chat.’ 

‘Right,’ she said, all her danger signals flashing bright red. She wasn’t the most trusting person in the world, but she guessed she’d let her walls slip a little; it was always like that after somebody had seen you drunk and spouting nonsense and let no harm come to you when your senses were altered. You trusted them a little more. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Davos said, and he hung his head, looking ashamed. ‘He offered me quite a bit of money, and with my anniversary coming up and my eldest off to university, I could do with every spare penny. I refused to leave you two alone,’ he said. ‘But I did put the pub closed sign on the door, and inform all our regulars we were closed for stock take tonight.’ 

Brienne had missed the sign. She’d been so intent on getting inside and telling Jaime her secret. 

‘He’s already here, isn’t she?’ she said, working it out. ‘That’s why you didn’t have to call him.’ 

‘Aye,’ Davos said. ‘He’s been hiding in the bathroom, waiting for my signal. I told him he had to – I wanted to make sure you were okay with everything before I’d let him talk to you. It’s not so bad when there’s a crowd, but I’m not much use if things had gone badly,’ Davos said. ‘And I’m not going to leave you two alone. I’ll be right here the whole time.’ He met her eyes. ‘He looked desperate. Whatever he wants to talk to you about, it seemed important. More than a bike.’ 

Her heart did not fucking swoop, and her hands did not become clammy. He probably wanted to talk about telling the other women the show was a fix. Or, she thought before she could stop, maybe this has all been a charm offensive and him and his father wanted to try to take over the company, just like they’d done to the Starks. 

‘Do you know who he is?’ she asked. 

‘I do,’ Davos said. ‘I’ve heard the stories. But he doesn’t seem like a cold-hearted murderer. There’s more to his past than he’s letting on, I’m sure.’ 

She’d thought that too. 

Jaime seemed to be able to fool everyone he ever met. He’d have a great career in acting in another life she supposed.  
She hated that Davos had played right into his ‘everyone can be bought’ world view. It was that which pissed her off more than anything. 

‘We better get this over with then,’ she said. Davos let out a high-pitched whistle, and the men’s room door opened, Jaime strolling out, like he hadn’t been hiding in a bathroom for the past half an hour. 

She could see he was aiming for his usual smirk as he slipped onto the stool next to her, but as soon as their eyes met, his expression faltered. 

‘I didn’t think you’d come back,’ he said. ‘After what I told you yesterday.’ 

‘I wasn’t going to let anything you told me scare me off my escape,’ she said, fiddling with her hands and then stopping. She refused to show that she was nervous. 

‘I’m glad,’ he said warmly. ‘I hope you still feel the same later.’ 

‘What is this about?’ she asked. All the reasons she’d come tonight had been wiped from her head. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of effort to make sure we’re here alone.’ 

‘I couldn’t have you leave,’ Jaime said, ‘thinking the worst of me.’ 

She wanted to roll her eyes. She never would have guessed that Jaime Lannister was so over dramatic. All this because he wanted her to know he was a good man? 

‘You fixed a reality show so you could be with the love of your life,’ she said. ‘That hardly qualifies you for a role as all that is evil. I was annoyed. And frustrated. And, hurt, a little, I guess.’ She still hadn’t quite worked out what he saw in Cersei. Yes, she was good looking. But she was one of the worst people Brienne had met in her life. The only human part about her seemed to be the love for her children – and Brienne was including her dog in that. 

Loving someone didn’t make you a good person. 

Which meant, Brienne supposed that Margaery had been right. Loving someone didn’t make you a bad person, either. 

‘It’s been a very emotional few weeks,’ she said, trying to make a joke out of it all. ‘You and Cersei make a wonderful couple. I’m sure magazines will be lining up for the first official photoshoot of the new Mr and Mrs Lannister.’ The words felt a little like glass in her mouth, but she took a mouthful of her drink to wash the feelings away. 

Jaime was a crush. That was all. Just like Renly. 

Only she’d never felt this horrible mix of bitterness, and helplessness, and emptiness with Renly. Not even when he’d started dating Margaery. 

‘I’m not here to talk about Cersei,’ Jaime said. He caught Davos’s eyes and the barman mumbled something about needing to fix the broken light bulb over the back table, before scurrying away from them, although still keeping them in his sight. ‘I’m here to talk about Aerys Targaryen.’ 

‘The man you...,’ Brienne trailed off. 

‘The man I killed, yes,’ he said. He sounded more serious than Brienne had ever heard him. More serious than she thought Jaime Lannister could be. And there was that look on his face again, the one she’d only ever seen a flash of once before – when he’d told her, all joking left behind for a second, that no, he wasn’t a knight. 

‘Jaime,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything about that. It’s not my business.’ 

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But my father is going to vote you off tomorrow. He told you as much yesterday, and today he spent much of the time walking around the hotel, looking murderous, and constantly on his phone. He’s going to get rid of you, and then I’m going to be married and I can’t...I can’t bear the thought of you always thinking me as nothing but a killer. I need to tell you the truth about what happened.’ 

‘Jaime -,’ she said again. She was going to tell him about her secret coming out. She was going to tell him that she hadn’t thought about him as a killer for a while now, but it was her best defense whenever somebody asked her about him. She used the word to hide her feelings, because everyone would agree she could never like somebody who’d taken a man’s life. 

She was going to tell him she didn’t care if he had straight up stabbed Aerys four years ago, she knew who he was now, and he wasn’t the same person anymore. 

But then he started talking, and she couldn’t stop him. 

‘My father’s best friend is a man called Arthur. They’ve been friends for years, ever since I can remember. Arthur is a policeman. More than a policeman, to be honest, he’s about as high up in the force as you can go.’ He flicked his gaze to hers, then away. ‘And please, no jokes about the Lannisters having the police in their pocket. Arthur would never let my father get away with anything. He’s the most moral man I’ve ever met.’ He met her eyes again. ‘And you’re the most moral woman.’ There was a brief smile on his face, and then it was gone. ‘Arthur had spent almost his entire career working on one case – he's done others, obviously, but he kept coming back to this one. Rampant drug running on the club scene.’ 

Jaime took a deep breath. ‘He complied a case against Aerys. He’d had people come to him, swearing Aereys was terrible. Oh, he might have played the slightly pervy club owner to perfection to the media, but what went on inside his clubs was hushed up. Nobody Arthur spoke to would give an official statement. They were too scared. By all accounts Aerys was a terrible person. You think working at the Lannister company is bad.’ His good hand curled into a fist on top of the bar. ‘Rape. Beatings. Drug dealing, money laundering. Even a bit of human trafficking from what Arthur heard.’ 

‘You seem to know an awful lot about a private police case,’ Brienne said carefully. Her curiosity was growing with every word Jaime spoke. 

Had the charges been right all this time? Not self-defense, but defense of someone else – this Arthur, who Jaime obviously admired like nobody else? 

‘Three of Aereys clubs burnt down in two years,’ Jaime said. ‘Large men with long hair were seen running away from each of the building shortly before they went up in flames. All in the dead of night, with hardly anybody around. There was insurance, and Aerys got his fair share of attention, talking about how devastated he was. Arthur needed someone. Someone to go undercover. To earn Aerys’s trust. To get in the know. Find out what he was up to.’ He met her eyes again. ‘Someone who would make a statement. Who could gather evidence. Someone who wanted to prove himself outside of his father’s shadow. Who had already proved, countless times that he could be charming, and brutal at the same time. Someone who was heartless, and did what he was told, no matter the consequences.’ 

She wanted to tell him he wasn’t heartless. Or brutal. But she sensed if she wanted to hear the end of Jaime's account of the past, she should stay quiet. She wasn’t even entirely sure he was talking to her now, but rather to the universe at large, explaining his story, probably for the first time in four years since it had all happened. 

‘I’d always wanted to do what Arthur did. Serve. Protect. Help the innocent. My father would never allow it of course, but when Arthur came round for dinner one night, talking about the case, and asking my father if he knew anybody he could send in – all his officers had been found out already – Tywin was only too happy to let me volunteer. I think he thought I’d fail, and come back, tail between my legs, ready to be a good boy and learn about the company. Well, he got his wish.’ His voice was bitter. ‘Arthur was a little more reluctant. I wasn’t the seven-year-old who idolized him anymore. My face was known. I wasn’t really trustworthy. I was more interested in going out and partying than doing a hard day’s work. But we got to him, and since he had no other option available, I got the chance to prove myself.’ 

Brienne pushed her drink towards him, and he took a mouthful, gratefully. He looked like he needed more than Coke, but it was all she had to offer. That and her ear. 

‘I got into Aerys's inner circle quickly. I was nothing if not good at playing the cocky heir, intent on trashing a future his father had built for him. Plus, I wasn’t a risk; what was I going to do? Run to the police? Pout about suddenly losing the thrilling friends that had coloured my dull privileged life?’ Jaime gave a bitter grin. ‘My stupidity preceded me in those days. And Aerys knew I was a good fighter.’ The charity match Brienne had mentioned, weeks ago came to her mind. Of course Aerys would have heard about that. ‘Aerys, it turned out was the leader of a gang. They called themselves the Dothraki. The biggest, meanest men, with tattoos and hair and beards and cold little eyes that stared you down. My job was to stand guard. Stand outside doors while they did whatever they wanted to do with waitresses. I wasn’t allowed to enter – Arthur was distressed when I told him the first time but there wasn’t much I could do. We got the women to safety afterwards. Gave them the care they needed.’ A shadow was in his eyes now and he went back to live in the past. 

Brienne felt sick. Not just for those women, although of course her heart ached for them. But for Jaime too. Not being able to act in that type of situation – Brienne would’ve blown her cover at the first sign of trouble. ‘It wasn’t exactly the protecting the innocent part I’d signed up for,’ Jaime said. ‘Another club of Aerys's burned down in the year I was with him. This one had been a close call – people had still been inside when it had started. Only because of a worker’s quick thinking and calm head did they all make it out alive.’ 

Green eyes, haunted by the past met her gaze. 

‘It was Aerys. Or at least it was on his orders. He wanted the insurance. And he liked the thought of hurting people. It gave him pleasure.’ Jaime swallowed. It sounded like there were waves crashing though Brienne’s head, even though the only noise in the bar was Davos slowly searching through a box of light bulbs to find the correct one. 

Brienne felt like she could see it all. Aerys Targaryen, him of the messy pale blond hair, and wrinkled face. His eyes had always gazed out from newspapers with a crazed look in them. People used to laugh at him, roll their eyes at his antics. Nobody ever took him as a threat. 

‘It had been raining that day,’ Jaime said, and if Brienne thought he’d sounded distant before it was nothing compared to now. ‘The pavements were slick, and I was freezing. I was pissed. Aerys had summoned me to one of his clubs. He told me he wanted me to go to the next level – but I had to prove myself a little more first. It was only 10pm. The club he called me to was heaving.’ Jaime took another sip of her drink. ‘His clubs were old and cheaply built. Some of the clubbers commented on the weird smell inside, and I heard them while I waited. I didn’t think anything of it. Aerys turned up. He handed me a lighter and a hoodie. Told me to put the hoodie on, sneak into the club and set off the devices he’d planted inside. He told me to get out quick and then laughed. It was crazy. A sound I’d never heard before. He wanted me to burn those people alive Brienne. He told me he’d disabled the fire alarms and the sprinkler system.’ He avoided her gaze once again, and Brienne felt there was slightly more to the story; more about what Aerys had planted in his club. 

She didn’t want to know. Her stomach was heaving as she thought about those innocent people inside. All those lives, taken, because of one person who thought he could do as he wished. ‘He must have known I wouldn’t do it,’ Jaime said. ‘It took fifteen minutes before he turned his back on me, and took his phone out. He was going to call someone else, someone already inside and get them to do the job for him. We hadn’t known,’ Jaime said, and his voice was pleading. ‘Me and Arthur. We thought we had more time before he’d make the next big play, but whatever madness I’m sure he suffered with had taken more of him than we realised. It was just me. And once I refused to do what he wanted me to, he told me he couldn’t let me live. He was going to kill me.’ 

He gave her a wry look. ‘I didn’t kill him because I was afraid for my life. As soon as he reached for his phone, I jumped him. I had three more guys on me in seconds, but I took him down. Stabbed him with his own knife – he always kept one on his person in case he was attacked. I was quicker. He didn’t think that Jaime Lannister would react like that. I went straight for his chest, and the three men went straight for my wrist.’ He eyed his fake hand. ‘Someone smoking outside the club heard my screams, and called the police. Arthur turned up however long it was later. The three guys had disappeared, but Aerys was still there, bleeding onto the wet pavement below. I couldn’t help staring at him, even in my pain. I just about managed to stammer Aerys’s plan to Arthur and he got his men on it. The club was fine. Nobody even knew what had happened. Or what was about to. I was taken to the hospital, and Aerys was taken to the morgue. He was gone when they got there – my aim had been good.’ 

‘Jaime,’ Brienne breathed his name into the silence his words left. All this time...all these years...and nobody knew. ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ she asked. ‘Why does nobody know?’ 

‘Aerys had children,’ Jaime said. ‘I never met them, but he talked about them sometimes. I couldn’t tell the world what a monster their father had been. No child should have to live with their father’s reputation. And it was all such a blur. Arthur made sure the court case was a closed affair. He vouched for me, told everyone I was working with the law, not against them. And you said it yourself,’ Jaime said, turning to her now, a tiny light coming back to his eyes as he dragged himself from his past. 

‘I did?’ Brienne asked. ‘Said what?’ 

‘But still,’ Jaime said. ‘But still, the bottom line was the same. I’d taken a man’s life. Yes, to save countless others, but the bottom line was the same. And once people heard that, it was all they were going to hear. People have been talking about me my entire life,’ he said. ‘This time it was bad, but after a while, all whispers sound the same.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Brienne said. ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through that. You made an impossible choice, but you have to know it was the right one.’ 

He was looking at her weirdly, and she shifted a little on the bar stool. ‘What?’ she asked. 

‘You believe me?’ he asked. ‘You’re not just humouring me so you can go back to the house and never see me again?’ 

‘Of course I believe you,’ she said, shocked he’d think anything else. ‘Do people not believe you when you tell them?’ 

‘It’s not something I share very often,’ he said. She thought about those yellowing newspapers in his office drawers, hidden away. He’d been beating himself up over his choice since he’d made it. It was a shitty situation, but Brienne felt relief so strong a tear came to her eye. He’d made the right choice. 

He had been a knight after all. ‘Only my father, Arthur and the people in the court know the truth,’ Jaime said. ‘And now you.’ 

‘What about Tyrion?’ she asked. ‘Or Cersei?’ 

‘Tyrion has never cared about why I did what I did,’ Jaime said. ‘I don’t mean it quite the way it sounds – he cares, obviously but it doesn’t change the person I am to him. I think I could probably straight up stab someone, just for fun, and I’d still be the same old Jaime to him. Not that I would,’ he added hastily. ‘If there’s one thing in this world I know, it’s that taking someone’s life is not fun.’ 

‘And Cersei?’ Brienne pressed again gently. 

‘She never asked,’ Jaime said simply. ‘And I...I felt like if I told her, I could lose her again. And I’d already lost so much.’ He flexed his arm on the table, his fake hand staying still where it was. 

Slowly, so as not to spook him, Brienne laid one of her large hands over the top of his fake hand. She squeezed it gently, even though she knew he couldn’t feel it. 

‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said, keeping her gaze on their hands. 

‘I couldn’t let you leave here thinking the worst of me,’ Jaime said. ‘I don’t know why, Brienne Tarth, but for some reason I care what you think of me. I didn’t want all your memories of this time to be about what a shitty person I was. I know I am a shitty person,’ he added, trying for humour, ‘but I wanted you to have the facts and not the fiction.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Brienne said, ‘Jaime Lannister.’ They smiled at each other, over the bar, the dim lights casting their faces in shadow, the neon signs lighting up their hands, still clasped, on the bar.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, tbh, I kind of struggled with this chapter and I'm still not really sure the end is as good as it could be. I don't know if it's because I've spent so much time on this fic, and it's been going on so long or what but it was difficult to get myself to sit down and write...
> 
> And then I read all your lovely comments, and my passion has been reignited. Just knowing how much you guys love this fic really brings a smile to my face so thank you so much for that! 
> 
> Anyway, Enjoy, and I'll see you in two weeks :):)

Violet eyes. Screaming. Spit in his face, and wind howling around him. The spark of a flame, and a laugh so high and so shrill, and echoing, echoing, echoing. Screams, the glimmer of a sharp blade, and then pain like nothing Jaime had known before. There was rain, and then Aerys’s dead body was on the ground in front of Jaime again, his dark purple eyes staring up at him, while his blood pooled around Jaime’s feet. 

Jaime woke, heart racing, Aerys's gaze morphing into another set of violet eyes Jaime knew, before fading to black. Jaime opened his eyes, struggling to hold onto his dream, his good hand clenched around the top of the bed covers. Aerys’s face flashed through his mind again. 

Not a dream. A nightmare. And one he didn’t want to hold onto. He was done with that part of his past - what had happened had happened, and there was no amount of wishing or recalling that would change it. 

Slowly, Jaime concentrated on bringing his breathing back to normal. He let go of the bed covers, and tried to focus on more positive thoughts. He’d have to call his therapist when the show was finally over, and tell him the nightmares had started again. Not that they’d ever left, not really – Aerys was still the first and last thing Jaime thought about -, but they’d come back with a vengeance the last couple of days. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he’d dreamed of Aerys. Jaime had spent last night talking more freely about that whole period of his life than he ever had. Even his statement to the court had been thinner – Arthur had already told them about all the undercover work Jaime had been doing, all the evidence with dates and places he’d been able to gather. 

Violet eyes were replaced with blue eyes. Gentle blue eyes that stared at him, shock and anger and horror written behind them. But not at him. Brienne hadn’t been angry or horrified at him, just at what he’d had to do. 

And she’d believed him. There was a pressing crush of weight on Jaime's chest every second these days, but he felt like it had loosened a little this morning. Brienne had believed him, not even questioning his story once. He couldn’t have asked for it to have gone better. He thought she’d storm out again, yelling at him, believing he was trying to play a trick on her. His best case had been her backing away a little, telling him that she needed a little time to think about what he’d told her. Maybe she’d contact him after the show had ended, maybe she wouldn’t. But he would have done his best to make sure she didn’t go away from here with the worst possible view of him. 

He rolled over in his bed, facing the blank wall that stared at him. He was glad to be in the house this morning, not the hotel. Glad of the silence this place provided, glad that nobody else was around. 

He was still trying to ignore his most pressing thought away. For a week now it had been sliding into his brain, or popping into his head at the most inconvenient moments, and he refused to acknowledge it. 

But after last night, he couldn’t shove it away anymore. 

He turned onto his back, letting all his thoughts go over to Brienne. His heart was now calmer, and he could feel the soft smile on his face as he thought about her. About how she’d reached out one of her hands to grasp his last night, not shying away from the fake one, but taking it in hers like it didn’t even matter. About the pink flush that crept up to her cheeks, making her freckles disappear for a moment. 

Then he thought about her freckles. 

And her legs. 

And her eyes; when they were hazy with drunkenness; or darkened by shadows; or bright and shiny with a passion; or clear and calm and staring at him, holding him and making him feel safe in a way he hadn’t ever felt before. 

There was a rustling from downstairs, and Jaime sighed, before pushing himself out of bed. Varys and the rest had arrived; he could hear their chatter now. He had to film his video for the task he was to set the final five. Then he’d be back at the hotel, watching the episode that was airing this evening. Watching as his F&F voted five of the contestants off. 

Watching as his father got rid of Brienne, because she wasn’t good enough for the eldest Lannister, not in any respect his father would care about. Yes, her looks were a little unconventional, and she wasn’t rich, but who cared – she was a good person and that was what mattered. 

Jaime didn’t want his father to get rid of Brienne, and he felt a slight panic at the idea that his nights at The Bear Pit were over. For two weeks he’d be confined to the hotel or this house – he couldn’t go back to the bar. Not without Brienne. 

And yet, he mused to himself, hating that the thought was there but looking at it anyway, there was a tiny speck of relief. With Brienne gone, Jaime would no longer be torn. His head could go back to concentrating on Cersei. 

‘Jaime, sweetie, are you awake?’ That was Varys calling up the stairs to him. Jaime yelled down his agreement, before going over to his wardrobe, and staring at the shirts available to him. 

He deliberately didn’t think about it as he selected the sapphire blue one. 

* 

‘Ah, there you are. Nice shirt,’ Varys said, as Jaime walked into the living room. Tyrion was there again, sitting at his usual seat at the end of the table, a book open in front of him. Jaime hadn’t seen much of his brother this week; Tyrion and Pod had had some sort of crisis at the company, and had had to leave to sort it out. Just because Jaime’s life had stopped for six weeks, didn’t mean everyone else’s had. ‘Come, sit down and we’ll let the make-up people work their magic.’ Varys grabbed his arm, and led him to the sofa, both of them taking their usual positions. Jaime closed his eyes as the brushes passed over his face. He’d never worn make-up before this show. His father had asked him a couple of times, before big award shows, or public events where he knew photographers would be, but Jaime had always scoffed. He had been regularly named one of London’s most eligible bachelors. He didn’t need make-up. 

The make-up girl whistled, then muttered something under her breath about the bags under his eyes. Jaime ignored her. It had been another late night, but he wouldn’t give his nights with Brienne up, not for the sake of him looking perfect. 

‘Just checking you know how everything will work?’ Varys said, once Jaime had been deemed acceptable. ‘Today we film you telling the ladies about their last task; and then tonight's episode will air. Your five F&F will vote five of the women off. They’ll film the task you set them on Wednesday, and film all their interviews on Thursday. Me and you will film your interview on Tuesday; just basic questions about why you entered this contest, and what you’re looking for, that kind of thing, nothing to be nervous about.’ Varys smiled at him, but Jaime felt his insides squirm. It was bad enough doing these small segments with Varys; being in an actual interview setting, the place where Varys shone would be hard. Jaime would have to keep his wits about him. Make sure he didn’t let anything slip; not like he had with Brienne. ‘Next Saturday, we’ll show the women taking part in your final task, and the vote off will be a little earlier than usual; the second to last ad break, instead of the last segment we show. When we come back, instead of showing the viewers who got voted off with the ravens dressing them in the cloaks, we’re showing your interview; and then the final two contestants' interviews. And then the week after, it’s the final episode. We’ll spend the week spending time with the final two – getting to know their families a little more, finding out what they like about you, why they want to win, that kind of thing. And, of course, the last half hour will be your wedding!’ Varys smiled brightly, and Jaime tried to smile back. Two more weeks until he got his dream. Until he and Cersei could be together forever. Finally. 

His smile was shaky, and he dropped Varys’s gaze quickly, wishing he could paper over all the rushing thoughts in his head. 

‘Welcome,’ said Varys, now facing the camera, and Jaime focused his attention there as well. He had something to do. Right now, in this moment, he didn’t need to think about anything else except filming. Concentrate on his best Lannister face. Relax. Smile. ‘And now, Jaime Lannister to tell you what your final task is.’ 

‘Good morning ladies,’ he said. This was fine. He could do this; he’d always been great at talking. ‘As you may know the Lannister Company is involved in all kinds of media. And the media is heavily involved in us.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘As my wife, you’ll feature in the media more than ever before.’ That wasn’t true; he knew most of the remaining contestants were written about quite a lot, and Cersei had more headlines to her name than all of the rest combined. ‘So, to get you used to life as a Lannister, this Wednesday you’ll be attending a premiere for one of the films the Lannister company has put money into.’ He flashed a smile to the camera. ‘That’s right ladies; it’s time to put on your best clothes, and get as glammed up as you can. You’ll be rubbing shoulders with the stars of the film, and walking a red carpet. Get ready for the cameras and enjoy it!’ 

He wondered if anyone would be able to see the bullshit in his words. Yes, the Lannister company invested some money into films these days, but Jaime hadn’t been to a premiere for four years, and he wasn’t keen to get back to them. He’d always hated them; the line of photographers shouting his name, and asking him rude and invasive questions trying to get a rise out of him. Nobody in their right mind would enjoy walking a red carpet. 

And then he felt fear snake through him; Brienne would hate this task. She’d hate having to pose for photos, and smile to the camera. She’d hate having to find a dress, and having her hair and make-up done. He’d chosen this task to fit Cersei. 

It doesn’t matter if Brienne doesn’t like it, whispered a voice in his head. She won’t be there. 

Of course. He’d forgotten for a second. Tonight was Brienne’s last night in this contest. She wouldn’t be walking a red carpet, or having her photo taken. She’d be at home, probably watching the episode with whichever of her friends also got voted off tonight. He needed to remember that. 

He’d already thought about trying to speak to his father. Tell him he’d learned about who he was intending to vote off tonight, and not that Jaime cared in the slightest, but did he really think it was the smart decision? Everyone loved Brienne, she was one of the favourites to win. Did Tywin want the whole nation to hate him? 

But he knew it was pointless. His father had made up his mind, and there wasn’t a single thing that could change it. 

Varys was still talking into the camera, but Jaime’s part seemed to be over. He sat for a while longer, tuning out everything around him, letting his thoughts wander back to the one place they shouldn’t; Brienne. 

Maybe it was because she’d always come back; even when they’d fought. Even after she learned his secrets. Maybe it was because she’d believed him straight away about the worst thing in his past. Maybe it was because she was somebody nice to talk to. Someone who made him laugh, who looked at him like she was trying to figure him out, even though Jaime had always felt he was an open book. Maybe it was because her eyes were that colour, or her legs were that long, or her freckles were that obvious. 

Maybe it was just her. 

‘Jaime?’ Varys was peering at him. ‘Everything okay?’ 

‘Of course,’ Jaime said. ‘I just drifted for a second.’ 

‘Getting distracted by thoughts of your wedding?’ Varys said, chuckling. ‘I have to admit, even if I’m a little nervous, and I’m not the one getting married. I’ve never presented anything like this before.’ 

Jaime made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. He’d never thought Varys, the presenter would be at his wedding. He’d wondered about his wedding to Cersei practically all his life. They’d even pretended when they were younger; Cersei with a silk pillowcase over her head, slowly walking over his bedroom floor, while Jaime in one of his father’s suits waited at the pretend aisle for his bride. He knew his father would want a big wedding, and that half of London’s society would be invited. He’d always known his wedding wouldn’t be his, not really; his father would pick everything to do with it, down to all the little details. But Jaime had always known who the bride would be, and that had really been all that had mattered to him. 

‘Something like that,’ Jaime admitted. 

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ Varys said, standing. ‘You should be glad you’re in here; I’ve seen the edit for tonight’s episode, and it will blow everything we’ve done previously out of the water.’ He clapped a hand on Jaime’s shoulder, before leaving. Almost everyone else had already cleared out. Only Tyrion remained, sitting at the table. 

‘You look troubled, brother,’ he said. ‘Anything you care to talk about?’ 

‘Not here,’ Jaime said. He’d made a promise to keep his thoughts to himself; but this was Tyrion. He could tell his brother anything; he’d always been a sounding board for Jaime to sort his feelings out on, even if he didn’t agree with all of them. He’d always listen. 

‘How about we go for a walk in the garden?’ Tyrion said, sliding down off his chair and gesturing to a small door set just behind him that Jaime had never paid attention to. 

‘There’s a garden?’ Jaime asked, as he stood, following Tyrion as he unlocked the door. 

There was a garden. It was tiny, really just a patch of grass and a few dead flower heads along the fence. The sky was grey, and a thin mist was drizzling. 

But it wasn’t a hotel room. Or the house. Or The Bear Pit. Or the inside of a taxi, and Jaime was grateful, for this little escape. There were no cameras out here; he could see the fence was bare, and there were no trees for them to hang from. He was free out here. 

They walked to the back of the garden, just in case the microphones inside could pick their voices up. Neither of them had thought to bring an umbrella, and Jaime tipped his head back, enjoying the rain on his face. 

‘You needed to talk?’ Tyrion said eventually. 

‘I’m just having trouble lately,’ Jaime admitted, slowly. ‘It’s this contest. All these women competing for my hand, and yet I already know who’s going to win; it was a selfish thing to do. I’ve wasted six weeks of their life.’ 

‘Forgive me, but when have you ever cared about being selfish?’ Tyrion asked. ‘I mean, you know I love you, but you’ve always taken what you wanted.’ It was true. Jaime had taken things because he wanted them. He’d done things because he thought it was fun, or it had seemed the best option in that moment. 

He’d changed a little four years ago. When everything had been a big black hole and violet eyes stared into his soul each night. And he felt like being here was changing him more. 

Jaime hadn’t wanted to tell Tyrion about his nights with Brienne. They were his, and he didn’t want to share. Plus, he knew his brother would seize on them. Try and persuade him that his confusion was a good thing, and push it until Jaime was questioning his feelings for Cersei, and wondering if maybe he should just let the show play to its natural conclusion; let the public decide who should win. 

He didn’t need Tyrion for that anymore; he’d been having those thoughts himself for the past couple of days. 

‘I’ve been sneaking out some nights,’ Jaime said. ‘And going to a bar. I... I’ve met someone there,’ he confessed, feeling the relief that his secret was now out in the open. ‘Obviously I love Cersei, but this woman...she’s made me feel things I never wanted to feel for anyone else.’ He rested his head against the fence, and closed his eyes. ‘Cersei was supposed to be the rest of my life.’ 

‘And now?’ Tyrion asked. 

‘And now, I’m not sure,’ Jaime said, but even as he said it, a panic was rising inside him. What was he saying? That he no longer wanted to marry Cersei because of a few evenings spent with another woman? That, what, twenty hours could replace over twenty years? 

‘Jaime, if you no longer want to marry Cersei, just say the word,’ Tyrion said, his voice rising in hope. ‘Bronn will stop as soon as you tell him to. We can let the public decide, and then you’ll end up with someone else; we’ll tell Cersei something went wrong. Send Bronn on holiday so he won’t have to face her wrath. You and your new wife will be sent on the honeymoon, and by the time you get back, I’m sure Cersei will have calmed down. You can get a quiet divorce and be with this other woman. You owe it to yourself to at least see if you can make things work.’ Tyrion went on, and on, talking like he just knew everything would work out if Jaime left Cersei. He sounded so hopeful. 

‘You’ve thought about this,’ Jaime said. 

‘I... well, I’ve had some thoughts about what to do if things went a little wrong,’ Tyrion said. ‘But all smart people have a Plan B in place.’ He tried to grin, but Jaime was seeing things clearly. 

‘You’ve never wanted me to marry Cersei,’ he said. Him and Tyrion had had this conversation several times over the years, but never so blunt. 

‘You don’t even sound like you want to marry her!’ Tyrion said, staring up at Jaime, outraged. ‘You literally just said you’ve met someone else.’ 

‘I didn’t - I never – I don’t know if I want to marry this other woman!’ Jaime said. 

‘Jaime, listen to me,’ Tyrion said now, taking his brother’s hand and tugging till Jaime looked down at him. ‘I know you’ve loved Cersei for years. And I know you love deep. But if someone else has made you question your feelings then you owe it to them to see where those feelings go.’ 

‘No,’ Jaime said, stepping away and shaking his head. The rain ran down his face, making his hair stick to his head and making him shiver. ‘No, I owe Cersei everything. She’s the one who’s always been there. She doesn’t deserve this.’ 

‘Except she hasn’t always been there, has she?’ Tyrion said. ‘She left you for Robert. On and off for years, so much so, I doubt even you know where one period began and then ended. I thought you’d gotten over her, finally, but then you had your accident and I couldn’t think of any other way to show you that your life wasn’t over.’ Tyrion sounded bitter. ‘I brought her back into your life.’ 

‘And you were right,’ Jaime snapped. ‘She did show me why I shouldn’t give up. We’ve always been destined to be together; she used to say it all the time. We were; are, one soul in two bodies. Brought into the world almost at the same time, like we were meant to be.’ 

‘She spun you nonsense so she could get you to love her,’ Tyrion said. He was gripping his hair, and Jaime knew his brother had been holding onto all these words for years. ‘She knew you were a romantic at heart, and she played on it so she could get in with father, and work her way up; you were her best chance and she took it with everything she had.’ 

‘Cersei loves me,’ Jaime said, ignoring the way his voice wobbled. 

‘I think she did,’ Tyrion admitted. ‘At one point. And you loved her, I know that. But you’ve drifted apart over the past ten years or so.’ 

‘Then why do we keep coming back to each other?’ Jaime said. ‘Why can’t we resist if we’re no longer in love and aren’t meant to be?’ 

‘Because it’s easy,’ Tyrion said, and now he just sounded sad. ‘And because you want things to be the same as they were before you took a man’s life, and when you had two hands. And in your mind, Cersei is the best way to do that. If she can look at you as she once did, then so can everybody else. You can be the Jaime Lannister you always used to be.’ 

Jaime had thought that talking to his brother would clear his mind; and it had. Yes, maybe, he had a crush on Brienne. And he hadn’t known how to deal with it; he’d never really had a crush on anyone before. He’d thought other women were attractive, of course, but he’d never spent enough time with anyone to develop feelings for them. 

But did that mean he loved Cersei any less? That he no longer wanted to marry her? 

No. His life was planned out, and he wasn’t going to risk everything just because of a crush. On someone who wouldn’t even be in the contest after this evening! Gods, but he was stupid. Why couldn’t he handle this like a normal person? 

‘Thank you for helping me,’ Jaime said. ‘But I love Cersei.’ 

‘Jaime,’ Tyrion said, a tired warning in his voice. ‘Please. Don’t be a stubborn fool.’ 

‘I love Cersei,’ Jaime repeated, his words firm. He would need to spend this week making it up to her; more than this week. The rest of his life. ‘And I’m going to marry her.’ 

‘What about this other woman?’ Tyrion called out as Jaime took a step back inside the house. His brother cut a pitiful figure, still at the back of the garden, the rain beating against his body, hair plastered to his head. ‘What are you going to do about her?’ 

‘Nothing,’ Jaime said, swallowing the lump that rose in his throat and pushing Brienne’s face to the back of his mind where it needed to stay. 

After all, after tonight, she wouldn’t matter anymore. 

* 

The hotel was quiet. There was no Bronn in the chair, no Pod on the floor, no Tyrion down at the end of the sofa. Not that Jaime really cared about Tyrion at the moment; he hadn’t spoken to his brother since their little spat in the garden this morning. Jaime had gone upstairs to dry himself off, and by the time he’d come back downstairs Tyrion had already left. 

Jaime made his way back to the hotel, and he’d stayed all day. Nobody had come to visit him, even though he knew it would be unlikely. All the F&F would be at the contestants house all day, getting direction for how things would work tonight. Jaime knew Petyr was trying to keep them apart, so that they couldn’t discuss who’d they’d be sending home with each other; he wanted outrage as they voted off a woman someone else liked. The Hound had let that slip when he’d stopped by for a very brief visit earlier in the week. 

The One credits rolled across the screen and Jaime unmuted the TV. The adverts had been grating on his nerves. His phone lay still and silent next to him. According to Varys this episode blew all the others out of the water, and without Bronn or Pod here to scroll through Twitter, that task was left up to Jaime. He didn’t know if he wanted to look; maybe it was better not to know. After the whole event with Aerys everyone had written about Jaime. He’d kept some of the worst articles, hiding them in briefcases or desk drawers to pull out when he felt like he couldn’t make it through another day under his father’s thumb. If he could survive that time undercover, he could survive anything. 

The One started, Varys explaining to the viewers how F&F week would work. The contestants had spent a day with each of Jaime’s F&F, doing activities they’d chosen. At the end of tonight’s show each of the F&F would choose one woman to vote off the show; phone lines were not open this week, and please do not vote as your vote would not be counted but you may still be charged. 

Varys’s smiling face transformed into the contestants in the den. Jaime and Varys were on the screen, telling the women about F&F week. And there was Jaime, explaining his brilliant idea to them; for them to invite their friends and family to the house for a party that very evening. Cersei was wide eyed with excitement. She looked so happy, and Jaime felt his heart tug. How could he ever had questioned his feelings for her? She was his love. His life. 

Which didn’t explain why he was suddenly leaning forward as soon as Brienne came on screen, asking Varys what to do if she had nobody to invite, since her father was currently out of the UK on business. 

‘My older brother died, years ago. As did my mother. And, to be perfectly honest, all my friends are in this room. Or are related to people in this room, so will be coming anyway.’ Gods, what a shitty situation, Jaime found himself thinking. No wonder she’d spent so many nights at The Bear Pit with him. He’d always wondered about that; Brienne didn’t seem like the type to break the rules. But she had, constantly, to spend time with him. She was lonely. She’d latched onto Jaime because she had no one else. 

His thoughts stopped right there. He could try and justify Brienne’s actions all he liked, try to make himself feel better about how he was going to leave her high and dry and put all thoughts of her out of his mind, but he knew the truth. Brienne snuck out to meet him because she wanted to. She liked him; he wasn’t sure if it was just the tentative friendship they’d built or if there was something a bit more there. Where he was an open book, Brienne was closed. Just like Cersei, she kept people at arm’s length, only letting a few of them close enough to really know her, not just who she presented to the outside world. Jaime felt a small glow of pride when he was with Brienne; he’d been allowed behind the barrier, even if only for a small while. He’d been allowed in from the cold. 

But he couldn’t stay there. He needed to put a stop to this now. Before Brienne pulled up a permanent seat for him inside her circle. If he let this continue, they might become too close, and then she wouldn’t let him leave...but no. Brienne wouldn’t stop him. If he wanted to leave, she’d let him leave. Brienne wouldn’t force him to do anything against his will. She might ask him to stay, but she’d never play games with him. Jaime was his own person when he was with her. 

One day, there would be someone else ready to settle down inside Brienne’s barrier. Someone who wasn’t tied up with another woman. Someone who could love her the way she deserved. 

Jaime’s heart hurt at the thought. He’d missed all of the women making their excited phone calls, even Brienne. They were now on the first set of adverts. He could rewind it, but really what was the point? He checked his phone for something to do, and his heart twisted when the first tweet he saw was someone asking if Brienne’s father had really just been trying to set her up with his assistant. 

There were already other people out there, who wanted Brienne. He needed to let her find one of them. 

Everyone was overjoyed Cersei was finally getting to see her children. And curious to see what the Starks were like; they kept to themselves these days. 

The One was back, and Jaime watched as family after family were reunited. It was sweet – watching Sansa be overcrowded by all of her family; watching Cersei wipe away a tear as her twins clung to her, and Joffrey jumped around their legs; Ros was greeted by her friends with shots; Margaery hugged her Grandmother and smiled at Loras and Renly who both looked dashing in matching suits; Missandei greeted a guy from her parent’s training camp, neither of them meeting the others gaze; Daenerys hugged an elder gentlemen who’d apparently looked after her for years; Yara greeted her brother with a high five, and her Uncle with a dirty look; Ellaria greeting her dark haired sisters; and Ygritte hugged her father so fiercely it seemed to shock even her. 

The scene cut to the garden; everyone was mingling, having a great time. Jaime watched as Olenna Tyrell held a table to herself, making everyone laugh with a story about her past; Ros and her friends giggled and threw back the champagne on offer. Brienne was there, having a conversation with the youngest Stark about how she was Santa Claus – it was hard to follow, and Jaime's attention had been taken by something else. Walking in the background, hard to miss because of her pink dress were Cersei, and Yara’s Uncle, Euron. Cersei was hanging onto Euron’s arm, and laughing at his words, although she looked slightly confused as to why she was laughing. 

They weren’t going to show them. Not really. Not flirting. Of course they weren’t - Cersei was a front runner. Showing her flirting with another man would tank her reputation. But Jaime knew what her flirting face looked like. 

Cersei and Euron were out of shot, but Brienne was back. The Hound was thrusting a present at her; a helmet. 

‘It’s an apology,’ said The Hound. ‘For the fight. Sorry. I took things a little further than I was supposed to.’ 

‘That’s alright,’ Brienne said, looking completely nonplussed as she picked at the wrapping. ‘So did I.’ 

She undid the paper, pulling out a helmet, her eyebrows raising in shock. ‘This is quite a present.’ 

‘I didn’t think you’d want flowers,’ The Hound said, and Jaime felt a beat of annoyance; obviously The Hound wasn’t going to tell Brienne the helmet had been Jaime’s idea. But still. She should know. 

‘No,’ Brienne said. ‘I’m not really a fan of flowers.’ 

The camera went back to Ros and her friends. Back to Missandei and her friend – Grey – who were being introduced to Daenery’s friend. Back to Ygritte’s father who was handing out bottles of his beer to everyone who passed by – he seemed to have brought some in his rucksack. Yara, her brother Theon, Sansa and her eldest brother Robb, were standing around in a little group. Ellaria was talking to her sisters. 

People kept disappearing from the scene, as the sky above grew darker. Brienne was sitting on a low wall, eyes fixed to a point over the back of the garden. And Cersei was sitting in the middle of the garden, with her twins. 

Euron was sitting next to her. 

Suddenly, there were screaming, and shouting, and people flinging themselves out of the way as a giant white horse rode into the garden, trotting around a couple of times, before walking up to a shell-shocked Ellaria. There was a dark guy on top of the horse, his shirt open to his waist. 

‘Ellaria,’ the man said, ‘it’s been too long.’ He brought one of her hands up to skim across his lips. 

‘Is this supposed to impress me?’ Ellaria asked, but there was a smile fighting to break out on her face. ‘Riding in on a white horse?’ 

‘The zoo wouldn’t let me hire a more exotic animal. And it’s hell to get a saddle on an elephant,’ the man said. Jaime knew who he was; Oberyn Martell. He was big in business, although not in the UK; he was more famous overseas. Tywin had had some brief dealings with him throughout the years, and Jaime had met him once before. 

He had no idea that Oberyn and Ellaria were dating, although now he thought about it, Jaime couldn’t imagine a better suited couple. 

‘For all you know I’ve fallen in love with Jaime Lannister and want to marry him,’ Ellaria said. 

It was only because Brienne’s face was framed in the background that Jaime noticed the slight twinge that passed across it at Ellaria’s words; did that mean...could that mean...did Brienne want to win? Did she want to marry him? She’d told him that nobody wanted to, but maybe there was something there. Maybe that crush Jaime had been harbouring wasn’t as one sided as he thought. 

‘I know you better than that,’ Oberyn said, a sly grin taking over his face. ‘You could never fall for anyone else. You love me as much as I love you. My heart has hurt watching you every week compete for a man not fit to lay with you. I am sorry, my love, for our fight. Come,’ he said. ‘It is time for you to come home.’ 

The couple kissed, and everyone in the garden clapped and whooped as they watched a romance novel play out before them. 

The newly reunited couple rode out of the garden, and then the scene faded to black before Varys was back, informing the public about what to do if they wanted a refund on any previous votes for Ellaria. 

Jaime picked up his phone as the adverts started and scrolled through #TheOne hashtag on twitter. This stuff was kind of addicting once you got into it. 

#TheOne OMFG Ellaria is literally a Disney Princess and her Prince Charming arrived on a white horse to take her away! 

#TheOne So fucking cute! 

Did anyone else’s see Brienne’s face when they mentioned wanting to marry Jaime? Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but something tells me girls’ got a crush...#TheOne 

Cersei’s actually really sweet with her kids. It’s weird to remember how she was married to Robert, I don’t think of her like that at all...#TheOne 

There were hundreds of tweets, everyone talking about their favourites and who they least liked. Jaime was rarely mentioned, and usually only because the person was wondering if the women would be compatible with him (I’m sorry, I love the girl to pieces and am so happy she’s still in, but I just can’t see Missandei and Jaime working out. #TheOne). 

Maybe Jaime should have been more offended, but he wasn’t. He’d faded into the background of the show, the contestants taking all the spotlight. It was the best outcome he could have hoped for (apart from everyone forgiving him forever and never again mentioning his past, but he knew had to be partially realistic at least.) 

Maybe his father had been onto something after all. 

The show was back, and Pod was in the den, explaining to the women what their task today would involve. 

A walking tour of London. Jaime’s interest piqued, and then he remembered he wasn’t actually going on the tour. But still. He had wanted to do this tour. The only reason he’d decided not to in the end was because the one weekend he’d earmarked for it, Tyrion already had something else booked and Cersei had refused to come. She had no interest in history, or spending more than a few minutes outside, not if there was no wine or social interaction involved. She’d booked a hotel for them in the end, and Jaime would have been stupid if he’d turned that down in favour of a three hour walking tour. Plus, he never would have been forgiven. 

She wasn’t interested now, and neither it seemed were any of the other women. Half of them seemed a little worse for wear, their eyes unfocused, their lacklustre efforts obvious. 

The next part was watching the women decamp from a small bus, in the middle of London. They greeted a tour guide, in the pouring rain, umbrellas opening and blocking their faces from the camera. 

The best thing to say about the five minutes they spent on Pod’s day was there were several amusing parts; Brienne reaching out from her umbrella to pull another contestant who’d gone wandering off back to their group; Sansa almost falling headfirst into the river after the group had all squeezed through a tiny alley together, and Yara grabbing the back of her jacket and ensuring her safety. The tour guide gave some facts on the TV, and some of the places they saw where shown in all their glory, but the whole thing was a total let down. Jaime’s interest went up again for a ten second shot of Brienne answering a question about The White Tower correctly, and her smile when she saw the building. 

Then it cut back to them on the coach, all of them now in fresh clothes, and napping in their seats. Pod was sitting next to Brienne at the front of the coach, and he looked near tears. 

‘Cheer up,’ Brienne said, ‘it wasn’t that bad.’ Jaime snorted at that, in his empty hotel room. He got what Brienne was trying to do, but really, straight up lying wasn’t going to achieve anything. Pod was a smart guy. Not even the best storyteller could spin that day into anything worthy. 

‘It was terrible,’ Pod said. 

‘It wasn’t executed well,’ Brienne admitted, ‘but that wasn’t your fault. You can’t control the weather. The pub was pretty cool, what we saw from the outside. And it has to be better than whatever Bronn has come up with.’ 

That got a small smile out of Pod, and Jaime felt his heart melt just a little. Maybe it was because they’d known each other before the show, but it was sweet watching them talk. Jaime was pretty sure Brienne was the only one who could have gotten Pod to smile; and she was definitely the only one who’d even tried. 

‘Tell me about working for the Lannisters,’ Brienne said now, and Jaime’s head snapped up. Why was she asking? What was she trying to find out? 

‘Why?’ Pod asked. ‘You don’t like them.’ 

Brienne shrugged. ‘I don’t not like them. Tyrion’s been okay to me and...and the more I learn about Jaime the less he seems like the person I thought he was.’ 

For the first time all evening, Jaime was glad his brother and his friends weren’t here to watch this with him. A smile he knew was sappy spread over his face. She liked him. Or at least she had at this point in time, before everything else had happened. 

Pod’s voice washed over Jaime, as he listened to him talk about Tywin Lannister, and how people came back to him again and again. Jaime had never thought about it like that before, and he wondered how much further his father could have gone if he’d been likeable. How many more areas he could be involved in if the Lannister reputation wasn’t so feared. 

Then Pod was talking about his work, and his boss, although it seemed like he might have forgotten he was supposed to be Jaime’s assistant, not Tyrion’s. Gods, what would people think of him wanting an assistant who wouldn’t ask questions or question his weekend choices? He was supposed to be leaving that questionable reputation behind him, not adding fuel to the fire. 

And then Pod was talking about Jaime. About how the employees at the company felt about him and how he’d never been violent. 

‘You make it sound like he’s not that bad a person,’ Brienne said, and she sounded like everything she’d ever believed had just shifted a little. 

‘He’s really not,’ Pod said, and Jaime made a mental note to tell Tyrion to give the boy a pay rise. ‘Everyone thinks they know him; but they don’t. They know one thing about him, and it eclipses everything else.’ 

‘You know what Pod?’ Brienne said, her face now the only focus of the camera, her blue eyes shining, ‘you might be onto something.’ 

There were more adverts and Jaime left his phone alone this time. Twitter would be all about him now, he was sure of that. And he didn’t want to see what they were saying. 

When The One came back, it was Tyrion and Bronn standing in the den, grinning at the women. There was a life size cardboard cut-out of Jaime next to them, which Jaime had seen once before, during a birthday party He’d wondered where it had got to. He wondered where it was now, and then put it out of his mind – he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. 

Only Brienne and Margaery stood behind the sofa today. 

‘Welcome ladies!’ said Tyrion, clapping his hands together. Jaime had to blink a little at the TV – was he imagining it, or did all the women look a little frosty? Sansa’s cheeks matched the colour of her hair, and even Cersei’s feathers had been ruffled – her chin was jutting out, and her fingers were gripped around the cushion next to her. It was how she posed whenever she wanted to seem unbothered, but Jaime had spent years trying to notice the warning signs so he could prevent whatever meltdown was coming. ‘Now, I know you’re all wondering why you have not one, but two handsome fellas here with you today, when you thought there would only be one. But we’ve decided to combine mine and Bronn’s activities together, so that on Friday we can all sit down as one big group and have a nice meal – get to know each other a little more informally. Today we’ll be going wine tasting – that's my choice,’ Tyrion said. ‘And we’ll spend the evening in a pub.’ 

They told the contestants they’d also be taking part in a pub quiz and offered the cardboard Jaime as a prize. 

‘It’s so lifelike,’ Daenerys said, approaching the fake Jaime. ‘And I assume you went to a lot of trouble to make sure it was all correct?’ she asked, and the camera panned back to show the fake Jaime wearing a pair of tiny white underpants, with a tiny, tiny bump down the front. 

‘Of course I did,’ Bronn said, before making a joke, and seemingly dissolving all the invisible tension in the room. 

The wine tasting was boring. Jaime knew viewers would be lapping the wealth up, but he’d spent his life dining at places like this, and it wasn’t enough to keep his attention. His head was so full of thoughts, and he couldn’t stop his gaze flicking between Cersei and Brienne. They all chatted about the wine and the tiny food they were sampling. Again, the only highlight came when it turned out that the wine served at Brienne’s 21st, and that her and Sansa had been trying to track down for years was Jaime’s favourite wine. 

Why did this keep happening? Why did all these little details crop up, showing Jaime how suited Brienne was for him? He was happy with Cersei. He was. He had never wanted someone else to come into his life, and shake his heart up, make him question everything. He hadn’t ever wished, not even when Cersei was off and married. Cersei was the one for him. He’d always known it. 

And yet... 

On screen, Brienne raised her glass in a toast, as Tyrion eyed her curiously, before she downed her full glass of wine, and slammed it back on the table, her cheeks the pinkest Jaime had ever seen them. 

The screen faded into the quiz, and Jaime supposed it was quite fun, watching Daenerys, Missandei and Tyrion blow everyone else away with their knowledge. Pink spots appeared on Missandei’s cheeks, and she’d look down at the table a little nervous every time she got the answer right, but as the evening wore on, she was laughing along with Daenerys who was cheering her on and making her own her intelligence. Even Tyrion, who prided himself on how much he knew was left a little in the dirt. She was wasted at her parent’s camp, that much was obvious. 

Jaime thought back to last week. To those nights where he’d waited at The Bear Pit, hunched over the bar, turning his head to the door every single time it opened, his heart leaping with hope and then thudding down to his stomach. He was sure Davos thought him pathetic, and Jaime couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t even sure he was wrong. 

What was he doing? The Hound was on screen, telling the women he was taking them to a medieval restaurant for dinner. Jaime was sitting in a hotel room, watching a heavily edited show that felt like it barely had anything to do with him, except for the jolts to his stomach whenever his name was mentioned, or they showed Brienne, or the guilt that churned when Cersei was on screen. 

Cersei was the woman he loved. He gazed at her face on screen, at her green eyes so like his. At her blonde hair, at her figure, reclining on the couch. He was a horrible person who didn’t deserve her. Brienne was going home tonight. It didn’t matter what tiny bud of a crush he was harbouring. Brienne would be out of his life tonight. 

Which meant it was okay if he soaked up every single second she was on TV right now. Nobody would ever know. He scooted himself forward, watching as she emerged in a shitty pink dress for the dinner, looking like she wanted the ground to swallow her up. Everyone else was talking and laughing and drinking, deciding what activities they were going to take part in tonight. 

Ros took part in the archery, grinning and winking to the camera as she let an arrow fly through the air. She missed, by an inch or so, but everyone applauded like she’d hit the bullseye. Margaery took part in the juggling, looking overwhelmed by the three plastic skittles she was handed, and eyeing the cheap jesters hat they forced on her head like she’d catch nits just by touching it. But she smiled and laughed as she tried again and again, finally managing to juggle for five seconds before everything fell away from her. She bowed, before taking her seat back at the table and applauding the guy who ended up winning. Brienne left the table, and Jaime's eyes followed her till she moved out of the camera’s focus. 

She didn’t reappear. The next contest was jousting; or at least a version of it. Diners on bucking broncos with plastic swords, fighting to be the one to stay on the longest. Yara was in the queue, at the back, watching with avid interest. 

They showed a little of the current ‘knight’ on the bronco. According to the announcer, they’d managed to unseat seven other ‘knights’ before they’d finally lost a battle and fallen off. As the announcer held up the knights arm, to thunderous applause from the watching diners, Jaime saw Margaery’s face overlooking the battle ground, a smirk forming as she stared at the knight who’d unseated seven other people. 

Jaime looked at the knight again, a thought forming in his mind...that couldn’t be...could it? It was the right height and build. Jaime was good at remembering people’s figures. Cersei had burned it into him after he’d accidentally brought her sexy underwear a size too big. She hadn’t spoken to him for a month afterwards. 

Yara took her place on the bucking bronco, getting through two battles before she was knocked off. Jaime looked around, desperately hoping Brienne would make an appearance and confirm his suspicions, but after Yara had been unseated, The One gave way to adverts. 

Jaime reached for his phone. 

#TheOne I love seeing these perfect women failing at something, makes them seem more real. And Margaery with the juggling was so funny! 

You go Missandei #brainsandbeauty #theone 

I’m sorry, did Brienne just say she had cases of £800 wine at her 21st? She’s here because of her father’s business, right? Does anyone know what he does? #Theone 

Jaime blinked. That couldn’t be right? Brienne’s father owned some small home ware business, didn’t he? Jaime was sure he’d heard Tyrion mention it the other day. Maybe somebody had sent it to them. Or maybe they’d just had the one case and Brienne’s father had splashed out for her 21st. He turned back to his phone. 

#TheOne Do we finally get to see the big bad Lannister after the break? Can’t wait to see if Tywin is as bad as he’s been made out. 

#TheOne Did anyone else notice Margaery learning over the side, and watching that knight? She was smirking, almost like she knew them. 

#TheOne That knight before Yara, was Brienne, right? We’re all in agreement? It looked so much like her, I wish they’d shown us her face!!! 

There were loads of them. Jaime scrolled through hundreds of memes of people looking confused, all of them wondering the same thing; had Brienne been the knight who’d knocked seven people off their bronco? 

Jaime made a mental note to ask her. 

Then he remembered that he might never see her again, so he shoved his phone to the side and turned back to the screen. There was still half an hour of the show to go. He was going to soak up every last little bit of Brienne Tarth as he possibly could. 

When The One came back, all the women were standing behind the sofa. All of them were dressed smartly, and silence surrounded them, until the double doors opened, and Tywin Lannister strode into the room, a dissatisfied expression on his face. 

Brienne had told Jaime she’d stood up to his father. It was the reason she’d be gone at the end of the show. 

Jaime hoped with everything in him that Petyr had left whatever had happened in. People would love seeing Tywin getting read the riot act. 

And they’d love Brienne even more for giving it to him. 

On screen, Tywin was his usual self as he told the ladies what they’d be spending the day doing; at the Lannister Company. The camera flashed to each of the women’s faces, and settled on the pale blank face of Sansa Stark. 

The next five minutes were basically an advert for the Lannister company. There were edgy shots of the building, both inside and out. Shots of smart looking people huddling around devices and discussing important matters. Everything was polished and shiny and new. It looked like a great place to work. 

And there was Tywin, striding down a carpeted hallway, the nine women behind him peering around at their surroundings. Employees stood up straighter as their boss passed, fake smiles instantly on their faces. 

Jaime wanted to laugh. Yes, the place was kept clean, but it had obviously been spruced up for the filming. And Jaime could tell from the people milling around in the background that his father had decided who would and wouldn’t be featured on camera. Everyone in the hallways looked like they could be models, not top businessmen and women. 

The contestants were taken around the whole building, Tywin telling them all about the different sectors the business had branches in. Jaime, who’d grown up with all this drilled into his brain leaned back a little, his interest not even flicking when Cersei asked questions. He should be happy; she was making an effort, which was more than any of the other women were doing. The rest were all standing back, careful blank expressions on their faces. 

The next shot was of the women being led into Jaime’s office. Jaime felt a little shiver as they opened his private place to everybody watching. Nobody had checked with him that this was okay. He would have said no. This was his personal office as well, not the private one he had, further down the hall. The one the women were currently entering and looking around was the place Jaime went to think, or more often than not, to hide. All his personal items were in there. 

Jaime watched as Margaery and Tywin had a pleasant conversation about the photos on the wall, each of them trying to up the other with the most famous person they’d met. Tywin moved on to chat to Ros about the awards in the case behind Jaime’s desk. Ros exclaimed over them all, telling Tywin the parties sounded fantastic, and she’d love to attend one of them – maybe after her and Jaime were married. 

Then Tywin moved onto Brienne. She was standing at Jaime’s bookcase, picking up items from the hundreds he had, and smiling down at them. 

‘My son is a terrible hoarder,’ Tywin said, and Jaime felt a little tension escape him as he scanned the shelves the best he could. He’d been worried his father would go in and chuck out as much as he could while neither Jaime nor Tyrion were in the office. But everything looked the same. His father, had for once, left well alone. ‘When he was little, I insisted on a clean room. Now that he’s old enough he buys anything he finds pretty or interesting and places it here. He won’t get rid of it, no matter how many times I tell him to clear it out.’ 

‘I like it,’ Brienne said, and she sounded so confident, and so calm. She wasn’t staring at Tywin from under her eyelashes, or stammering her words, or even trying to fade into the background, praying he wouldn’t take any notice of her like the other women had been. She was standing straight, staring him in the eye, like she couldn’t care less what he thought. ‘You could look for hours and still find something different.’ She smiled as she traced the outline of a ceramic black motorcycle Jaime had found online one evening a few months after he’d sold Oathkeeper. He really shouldn’t have been spending money on pointless junk at that point, but money had never been an issue for him. Despite all of his father’s flaws, money was one thing he never left his sons without. If Tyrion wanted to spend his monthly allowance (or wages, as he insisted it was called now days) on wine, and girls and extravagant holidays, then Tywin would just purse his lips and judge his life choices. If Jaime wanted to buy forty tiny pieces of junk that he found slightly interesting to add to his already overgrown collection, Tywin would just roll his eyes. 

He’d never cut them off or refused to pay for anything. 

Tywin was done with Brienne, and he moved on to chat to Daenerys and Missandei, before he paused for a second, deciding who to talk to next. Cersei was making herself at home at Jaime's desk, pulling old notes towards her like they’d show her the secrets of how to run the company. Sansa was still standing stock still by the door. Yara and Ygritte were at the wall made of glass, pointing out the view, and waving down to the people below them. 

The office door opened, and Jaime almost shot out of his seat as Jon Umber entered. 

Gods, but his father was a dick. Umber had worked for Sansa’s parents’ company before he’d betrayed them and come to work for the Lannisters. Tywin had just called him here to rub him in Sansa’s face. 

‘These are the ladies currently competing for my son’s hand,’ Tywin said, explaining why the women were in the room to Umber who looked shocked to be confronted by a big crowd. ‘I thought I’d show them how we do business in the Lannister family; after all, if things work out between them and my son, we could always find them a place to work.’ Cersei leaned forward, her face alive with hope at that. It was her biggest wish, and now it was within her grasp. 

Would she still want to marry Jaime if it wasn’t for his last name? The thought came unbidden to Jaime’s mind, and he couldn’t block it out. Before, whenever he’d had his doubts about Cersei, he’d always been able to block them out, shove them to the back of his mind. She loved him. She did. She might not always show it, or say it, but he knew her; and she did love him. 

Or at least...she had. In the past. Tyrion’s words from this morning came back to Jaime. Were they just together again because it had been easy to fall back into each other? 

No. The thought almost made Jaime break out in a sweat; him and Cersei were meant to be together. They were. 

Because if they weren’t...if this had all been a waste...then what was the point? He had to make this work. He had to. 

‘And it’s always a good idea to show the public what we get up to,’ Tywin said on screen, directing a small wink to the camera. 

Jaime gagged. 

Umber needed Tywin to sign papers, and he crossed the silent room, his face bright red as he moved past Sansa, who couldn’t take her eyes off him. ‘It’s been a nightmare to track you down,’ said Umber. 

‘You’ve found me now,’ Tywin said. ‘Now I think it might be time for you to go back to work.’ Umber left the room, avoiding eye contact with Sansa. 

The show could pass this off. Brush past it, and let the public wonder if things had got a little weird. It would probably all come out in the media tomorrow morning. Articles, once again telling the world all the details of the Lannister and Stark feud. 

‘We used to call him Uncle,’ whispered Sansa on screen, before excusing herself and slipping out of the room. Jaime’s head snapped up, as the tension on screen grew. Brienne was staring at Tywin, dislike on her face. Margaery was staring after Sansa, her fist clenched at her side. Everyone else just looked uncomfortable. 

Jaime understood. None of them wanted to say anything. Making an enemy of Tywin wasn’t a good idea. He crushed people for the fun of it; if you got on his bad side, there was no telling how far he’d go to take you down. 

‘You’re right,’ Brienne said, her face cleared into a polite expression as she stared at Tywin. Maybe it was a good thing her and Jaime would never be together. If she ever looked at Jaime with that fury that was burning away in her eyes, he’d crumple. He was surprised his father was holding up as well as he was. ‘It’s such a good idea for the public to see how you do business; bullying a young lady to the point of tears. I’m sure everyone will be gearing up to work with you after this.’ 

‘I’m sorry?’ Tywin said, turning towards Brienne, a tiny smirk on his face. His favourite thing was having someone to go up against. 

Jaime shut his eyes. He was glad Brienne was standing up to his father; he was. And to do it for something as noble as standing up for Sansa was even better; but he couldn’t help the bitter disappointment seeping through him. If she’d just kept her mouth shut, she might have got through this week. Tywin would take umbrage against somebody else and use his vote to get rid of them instead. ‘What did you just say to me?’ 

‘I said you’re a bully,’ Brienne said. Her voice was calm. ‘Bringing Sansa here was a horrible move, and shoving someone who used to work for her family in her face was even worse. I hope whatever little kick you got out of it was worth it.’ 

‘Remind me which one are you again?’ Tywin said. ‘I don’t think we’ve met before. I’d remember a face like yours.’ Jaime’s eyes flew open, and his good hand curled into a fist. If his father was in this room right now, there was no telling what he’d do. Anger was pounding though him – how dare he say something like that to Brienne’s face. 

The other women in the room gasped, their gazes flickering between Tywin and Brienne. Margaery, Yara and Ygritte were frowning, their mouths open like they wanted to say something, but their voices had been taken. 

‘My name is Brienne Tarth,’ Brienne said, still calm. ‘And thank you for proving my point.’ 

‘What point would that be?’ Tywin asked. 

Brienne’s cheek twitched a little, but whatever thought she’d clearly had, she swallowed. 

‘You think that it’s okay for you to insult us and call us names and make us feel small because you think we’re all beneath you. It’s not right.’ 

‘Next you’ll be going on about how life isn’t fair,’ Tywin said. He was pouring himself a drink, like this conversation wasn't bothering him in the slightest, but Jaime could tell from the tight lines around his father’s eyes, that he was nettled. 

‘Tarth did you say?’ Tywin asked. Brienne nodded. ‘Is your father the one with the tiny little home ware company?’ 

‘It’s a bit bigger these days,’ Brienne said. She was eyeing Tywin cautiously, like she was waiting for him to spring at her. She was still standing in the same spot, Jaime’s bookcase behind her. Her hands weren’t in fists at her side, but resting lightly on her legs. 

Tywin and Brienne continued to spar on screen, but Jaime couldn’t seem to take their words in. He was too in awe. When Brienne had told him that she’d stood up to his father, he’d assumed she’d meant she called him out on one thing and that had been it. That she’d told him he was wrong, and he’d taken offence to it. 

Not this whole scene that was playing out in front of him. Jaime would have to download the episode after it had finished airing, and watch it again. And make sure Tyrion had seen it. There was no way he’d known about this – it would have been all his brother could talk about if he’d known how bad things had got. 

On screen Tywin was now telling Brienne that he presumed the only reason she was calling him out was because she wanted Jaime; or a job. That she was hoping to stand out, and that was why she was talking to Tywin like this. 

‘I don’t need you to tell me how I can and can’t talk to anyone,’ Brienne said, and now there was anger seeping into her tone, and a flush on her cheeks. 

‘You need somebody to teach you,’ Tywin said. ‘Shall we see how your father’s company survives after I’m through with it? You do remember what happened to your friends family company, don’t you?’ 

‘Except that was when you had Jaime to do all your charm offensive for you,’ Brienne said. Jaime winced. He had wondered when he was going to be brought into it. Him and Brienne hadn’t really spoken about what he’d done to Sansa and her family. Him, because he didn’t want to remember; and her, probably because it was another part of his past she had to block out so she could spend time in his company. ‘I doubt he’d do that again,’ Brienne said, and Jaime stared at the screen. She sounded so sure. So firm. ‘From what I hear he wasn’t thrilled about doing it to the Starks even back then. And after what happened four years ago, it’ll be a lot more difficult for him to smile his way into anyone’s trust. And why you might be good at business, everyone knows you’re not to be trusted either.’ 

‘I’m going to destroy your father’s company,’ Tywin said, calmly, the words a wind sucking away all of the air in the room and stretching it till there was nothing left. 

Brienne remained silent. ‘If you’ll excuse me ladies,’ Tywin said, turning his attention to the rest of the room. ‘Some of us have a business to keep afloat. I’ll see you all tomorrow evening at the F&F dinner.’ 

Tywin left the room, and there was a beat of silence, before the door opened again, and Sansa slipped inside, asking everyone what she’d missed. 

The screen faded to black, and the adverts started. 

Twitter had gone mad. They loved Brienne. More than they already did, which hadn’t seemed possible. Everyone was happy to see Tywin get called out, and everyone was googling to see if they could find out the Tarth family business. They were going to buy so much home ware that Tywin wouldn’t be able to touch them. 

It was a sweet idea, and Jaime even found himself trying to justify why his flat suddenly needed a complete make over. But it wouldn’t matter. No matter how much money people spent, there were other ways to destroy a business from behind the scenes, and Tywin knew all of them. 

There were several people suddenly worried about Brienne making it through to next week. They hadn’t shown any of that, although Jaime knew this must have been where his father had told Brienne he was going to send her home. 

Well, let him, Jaime thought fiercely. He could send Brienne home, because there was nothing Jaime could do to stop it; but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure his father left the Tarth company alone. He wouldn’t touch it. 

It was the only thing Jaime could do for Brienne, now. And do it, he would. No matter what it took. He made some notes on his phone, before chucking it to the side as the show came back on, ideas still running though his mind. He’d need to get his father’s assistant on side, which should be easy as he’d always had a crush on Jaime. That way he could keep one step ahead of his father’s appointments, and phone calls. 

There was nothing he could do now. 

He wondered how his father was going to react when he finally saw the episode. Tywin was not painted in the best light, and this could affect the company. 

Although, it probably wouldn’t. They didn’t really deal with the pubic, but rather businesses. The Lannister company were involved in so many things, it would be hard to boycott all of them. It would be like that time the UK decided to get ‘Killing in the Name’ to Christmas number one, to stop the X Factor getting the top spot, and shoving it to ‘the man’; only for everyone to realise that the song actually belonged to the same company, and there were just making ‘the man’ even more money. 

The One was back, and Jaime let out a laugh as he saw the table. Brienne, his father, Cersei, Margaery and Sansa all down one end of the table. The first two minutes barely showed them, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out why; none of them were talking. It was much nicer to focus on the other end of the table, and the general chit chat that came from them, the jokes and the laughter. 

‘Grandmother says the company is doing very well,’ Margaery said, turning to Tywin. Cersei stabbed her food. Jaime signed. How hard would it have been for his father to throw his future daughter-in-law a bone? Just one tiny sentence of conversation. One little bit of praise, and Cersei would be fine. 

This would be Jaime's fault. Somehow. That he couldn’t persuade Tywin that he’d like nothing better than to see Jaime and Cersei together was a constant point Cersei brought up – she seemed to think Jaime wasn’t trying hard enough to convince his father. 

Jaime looked at his phone as on screen Margaery asked Tywin which one of the remaining contestants he’d pick for his daughter-in-law. 

Cersei hadn’t been in contact with Jaime much this week. A short text last night, but that was all. There had been no phone calls, screaming at him, and she hadn’t mentioned sneaking out to the hotel for almost a week now. Jaime had been so busy with Brienne and their nights at The Bear Pit that he hadn’t even realised, but now... 

Gods, what if Cersei was realising she didn’t want Jaime anymore? Then what would he do? Cersei had been the one constant in his life, always lurking in the background. He’d never been able to be without her, not completely. 

The thought brought a sick feeling to Jaime’s stomach. A weird churning of his belly, as he thought about life without Cersei. Someone else in his bed. Someone else to wake up to. 

Even in his imagined situation of being without Cersei, Jaime could tell something wasn’t right. The idea shook him of course, but he thought back to the conversation with Brienne about losing loved ones – how it was like losing your heart. 

The idea of losing Cersei didn’t feel like losing his heart. It was more like when he lost his hand – yes, it would throw him into a pit of despair and loathing for a little while, but he would be able to climb back up. He could practically already see the light at the end. 

This was wrong. And dangerous. He was marrying Cersei in two weeks' time, for Gods sake! He couldn’t change his mind now! He just couldn’t. 

Jaime had missed everything on screen; the mains had been taken away and dessert was now being served. Sansa made the happiest noise she’d ever made and launched herself on some small pastry thing, and Tyrion raised his glass. 

‘Well, I propose a toast,’ Tyrion said. ‘One of you delightful ladies will be marrying my brother – gods help you. Or him perhaps, depending on who wins.’ He tipped his glass down the end of the table, and the conversation turned to wedding talk. 

Twenty minutes. That’s all this episode had left, and then Jaime could go to bed, and let his thoughts wander to places he’d banned them from. He needed to think. He needed to - 

He looked up, completely caught off guard as on-screen Brienne let out the biggest laugh he’d ever heard. What had he missed? They’d been talking about the wedding dress, hadn’t they? Jaime didn’t know why the dress was an amusing topic. Petyr always got a little excited when talk turned to it, but he was keeping his secrets close to his chest. 

‘Did I miss the joke?’ Tyrion asked, and Jaime had never been so glad for his brother. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Brienne said, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Was the idea of her in a wedding dress really something to laugh at? Unbidden, the image floated into Jaime's mind, and he felt a tug in his heart. 

She’d look beautiful in white. 

‘No,’ Tywin said, ‘please, do share the joke with the rest of us.’ 

‘It’s not really a joke,’ Brienne said. ‘But I think I know who the designer of the wedding dress is.’ 

Sansa’s mouth dropped open, cake crumbs falling back onto the table, and Brienne nodded at her. 

Jaime was feeling incredibly left out; had he missed something? Were they going to tell them what the big secret was or not? 

‘How could you possibly know that?’ Tywin asked, his voice laced with scorn. 

‘Please can I?’ Sansa begged, and Jaime frowned. This segment had been on for two minutes and he already had whiplash. What was so exciting that Sansa looked more alive than she had for weeks? 

‘Be my guest,’ Brienne said, leaning back in her chair, her blue eyes levelled on Tywin’s face. Jaime found himself leaning forward too. 

‘Selwyn Tarth is more commonly known by another name these days,’ Sansa said. ‘The Evenstar – or ES as he signs it.’ ES – why was that ringing a bell in Jaime’s head? He’d heard it before, and recently. ‘The multi-billionaire, founder, creator and CEO of the exclusive Sapphire brand. You remember the bag I had for task two? That’s her father’s company.’ 

Sansa nodded at Brienne. 

And then all hell broke loose. 

Jaime sat stock still in his chair as on screen the ladies exploded. Some of them stood up, wanting a better look at Brienne. Everyone was talking, and asking questions and Tywin had turned a splotchy red colour that Jaime, in some distant part of his mind knew was going to be his new phone wallpaper. 

‘I assume,’ Brienne said, ‘that my father will be making the wedding dress.’ 

‘You’re a multi-billionaire?’ Tyrion asked, and everything slotted into place for Jaime. No wonder Brienne had been able to afford Oathkeeper. No wonder she wouldn’t take any money he was offering her for it. She didn’t need to. 

She was richer than he was. 

Brienne was explaining more about her father’s company to the table, but Jaime couldn’t focus. Why hadn’t she told him? He supposed there wasn’t ever really a good time to drop that your father owned one of the richest companies in the world into conversation, not unless you wanted to look like you were bragging. 

And she’d kept it from everyone. It seemed only Margaery and Sansa had known her secret. So why would she have told Jaime? If she wasn’t even telling those she was friends with, then no way did Jaime deserve to know. 

‘You can still try to wreck my company if you want,’ Brienne told Tywin. ‘But I think it might be a little harder than you expected.’ She shrugged, like this was no big deal to her. ‘Feel free to take back your offer. Nobody will think any less of you.’ 

That was the moment Tywin got up and strode away from the dining table. Cersei had turned an ugly shade of red and she glared at Brienne across the table, and everyone else was still talking. 

This had happened yesterday, Jaime thought. Maybe Brienne had been planning to tell him last night, but of course he’d dominated the whole evening talking about his past? It wasn’t because she didn’t trust him. Because she didn’t want him to know her. 

He picked up his phone, his shoulders tensing at what he knew he was about to find. 

He was right. 

Twitter had gone fucking crazy. 

* 

When the show came back from the adverts, Jaime put his phone down, his whole body shaking. He’d spent endless minutes scrolling social media, delighted at how happy and excited and shocked everyone seemed to be at Brienne’s news. People were pulling up the Sapphire website, and talking about how they understood why the company was so big. People were talking about her family island, and wondering how expensive it would be to go for a holiday there. They were amazed. They were delighted. 

And they loved that she’d waited until the last final second to tell Tywin. The perfect moment. There had been a lot of blinking guys, and dropped microphones on Jaime's screen. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one taken by surprise by Brienne’s news. Why shouldn’t her father own an exclusive fashion brand? Why shouldn’t Brienne be taking over it one day? 

The last few tweets had made Jaime's heart sink – the public had realised what this meant for Brienne. Making Tywin Lannister look a fool on national TV wasn’t going to do Brienne any favours, and as much as they were shouting it on their Twitter accounts there was nothing that could save her now. 

The garden of the contestant's house came into view, the remaining nine women standing in a line. They were all dressed in black jeans and a white t-shirt, and each of them had their heads held high as they stared at the five F&F opposite them. Varys was there, in between the two rows, talking into the camera, his usual smile on his face. 

Jaime wasn’t sure he could watch. It took all of his willpower to stay seated on the sofa, instead of throwing a pillow over his face, or muting the TV. He had to know. He had to see her go. 

‘The Hound,’ Varys said, turning to the end of the F&F line. ‘You’re up first today.’ A ‘raven’ walked into the shot, a black cloak over her arms that she passed to The Hound. ‘You’ve spent time with these women this last week. When you are ready, please walk behind the woman you want to eliminate from the contest, and throw the cloak over her. State her name clearly, and tell us your reasons why you believe this woman is not the one for Jaime Lannister. Girls,’ Varys said, turning to the contestants. ‘If an F&F puts a cloak over your shoulders, please wait for them to finish talking before walking a few steps forward. We will speak to each of the eliminated contestants once the F&F have had their vote.’ There was silence in the garden. ‘The Hound. Please, tell us who you believe is not the one.’ 

The Hound stepped forward, his head down as he made his way behind the women. Most of them seemed calm and relaxed, blank expressions on all of their faces. 

‘Ygritte,’ The Hound said. He placed the cloak on the red-head's shoulders. ‘I don’t like to do this, but you’ve made it very clear your heart belongs to another.’ 

‘Aye, it does,’ said Ygritte, and defying Varys’s instructions, she turned her head briefly to smile at The Hound, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders. ‘But it’s been a right laugh.’ She stepped forward, and The Hound went back to his place, as another raven stepped out, handing a black cloak to Bronn. 

Jaime wondered if he was imaging the small frown Brienne and Sansa suddenly wore. 

‘Yara,’ said Bronn as he walked up to the small woman, placing the cloak on her shoulders. ‘Sorry, love. You’re just not the one for Jaime.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ Yara said. She stepped next to Ygritte, and before the camera could pan away, the two women shared a high five. 

Jaime knew they didn’t want to marry him, but did they have to be so obvious about it? They’d done so well over the past few weeks, pretending they were slightly interested in becoming his wife. The masks had well and truly slipped. 

‘Tyrion, you’re up next,’ Varys said. Tyrion took his time walking behind the women, a frown on his face. He slowed down behind Sansa, then closed his eyes, shook his head, and stopped behind Daenerys. 

‘Daenerys,’ Tyrion said, ‘I’m sorry, but I believe your time here has come to an end. Whatever way I picture it, you’re the one person I can’t imagine being married to my brother. Something about the two of you won’t gel in my head.’ He kept his head down, even when Daenerys bent to hug him before joining Ygritte and Yara. 

‘Pod,’ said Varys. 

Pod was trembling. Brienne, Cersei, Sansa, Margaery, Missandei and Ros had moved up, so there were no gaps in their line, and all of them were staring at Pod. He seemed to make the mistake of meeting Brienne’s eye, and though Jaime couldn’t tell what was in her expression it was enough to make him trip as he took his place behind them. 

Pod took a deep breath, throwing an anguished look at the back of Sansa’s head before draping the cloak around Ros’s shoulders. ‘Ros,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry. I think everyone else is a better match for Jaime. You seem like you’re here for a good time. Jaime wants to find love. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.’ 

Ros threw her arms around him, smiling a little too happily as she joined the other three eliminated contestants. Pod kept his head down, ignoring the gazes of Brienne, Sansa and Margaery – and also of Tyrion and The Hound who were staring at him like he’d just grown an extra head. 

Sansa’s hands were in fists, and though she was doing her best to remain calm her chest was heaving, and an angry red blush had crept over her cheeks. 

There was only Tywin left now, and Jaime found himself forgetting all about Sansa. This was it. The moment everything was over. 

Tywin strolled to the back of the ladies, and Brienne took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. Jaime knew there would be no hug or smile for his father. 

Tywin stopped behind Brienne, shaking the cloak out. 

And then he took two steps right, and placed the cloak on Missandei’s shoulders. 

‘Missandei,’ Tywin said. ‘You are not for my son. He needs someone who understands the pressure of running a business, someone he can lean on. He needs someone who will put up with his dumb ideas, and you my girl are far too intelligent for that.’ 

Brienne had turned around and was full on gaping at Tywin; even Margaery and Sansa had turned their heads. Cersei remained with her face to camera, but she looked livid, a fire dancing behind her eyes. ‘I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me,’ Tywin said, before taking his place back in the F&F line. 

‘Well, there you have it, ladies and gentleman,’ said Varys. His host mask was perfectly intact. ‘Here you have your final four contestants – Cersei, Brienne, Sansa and Margaery. Make sure to tune in next week, and to vote, to see who makes it to your final two!’ 

There was a little more chatting – Varys finding out how the eliminated contestants felt. The final four remained as still as statues as the rest of them spoke, and Jaime didn’t even see the end credits. 

He knew it would take her a while to escape tonight. 

But he was heading for The Bear Pit. 

* 

The bar was empty when she finally got there. Jaime didn’t even bother to turn around to look at the door, keeping his head hanging low over his glass of champagne. Nobody else would bother coming to the bar this late. Davos had turned the outside sign off an hour ago. The bar was supposed to be closed. 

But it wasn’t. Jaime hadn’t asked Davos to keep it open, not for them, but he hadn’t made a single move to go back to his waiting car either. Neither of them mentioned it, and Jaime was grateful. Brienne was coming. He knew she was. 

Four hours after the show ended, but still. She was here now. 

‘I didn’t think you’d still be open this late,’ Brienne said, taking the seat next to Jaime at the bar, even though she was speaking to Davos. 

‘Officially we’re not,’ Davos said. ‘Everyone else cleared out hours ago. But he seemed a little worse for wear, and I assumed that after tonight you’d want to celebrate.’ 

‘Why after tonight?’ Brienne asked, and Jaime glanced at her. Her hair had been squashed down from her helmet, and her cheeks were red with the early morning cold. She was still wearing the clothes from the elimination. 

‘Well,’ Davos said. ‘You know. Congratulations on getting through to another week.’ 

‘You watch the show?’ Brienne asked, a hint of scepticism in her voice. Jaime raised his head to peer blearily at Davos. 

‘Well, I’m not the biggest fan, but my eldest’s girlfriend watches it, and she’s often round ours and she tapes the show on a Saturday to watch on Sunday morning, so we have to put up with it. I missed the earlier weeks, but then she started talking about it, and she mentioned you.’ Davos shrugged. ‘At least I no longer think you’re in rehab. Do you want a drink?’ He gestured at the bottle of vodka on the shelf behind him. ‘Or will you be joining this man I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to have met in destroying my stock of champagne?’ 

Brienne’s eyes moved over to the two bottles beside Jaime. Two empty bottles. He hadn’t meant to get drunk. Wasn’t even thinking about it. But he’d been so happy when he first arrived, that champagne seemed the only thing worthy of buying. And then he’d waited. And waited. And the drink had gone to his head, and it was such a nice drink to drown your sorrows in, really the only nice option Davos had behind his bar. 

‘No thank you,’ Brienne said. ‘I have to drive back.’ 

‘Come on, Brienne,’ Jaime said, entering the conversation. ‘One drink won’t hurt you.’ She turned her gaze to him then, and Jaime wasn’t sure what she saw but he knew he didn’t like it. 

Well, Brienne couldn’t judge his drinking choices anyway. She had no right. She dealt with sad memories by getting drunk. 

And Jaime dealt with having feelings for two women by drinking. 

‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Just half a glass. There’s been a lot of drinking this week.’ She settled down onto the seat, her gaze flicking to Jaime and then back to the bar, waiting until Davos had set the half glass down in front of her and then mumbled something about having to check a loose table leg, before the barman left them to it. 

‘I’d almost given up on you,’ Jaime said. He reached for his glass, dismayed to find it empty. Every nerve ending in his body seemed to be fizzing underneath his skin, and he wanted the feeling to go away. She wasn’t supposed to still be here. She was supposed to be gone. Just a little bump in the road as he made his way to Cersei. 

Jaime didn’t really believe in fates and destiny but that Brienne was still in the show felt like somebody up there was having a good laugh at him, by shoving her in his face and making him face his feelings. He couldn’t forget her. Couldn’t ignore her. 

‘It took me a while to leave,’ Brienne said. ‘Once the cameras stopped rolling, all hell broke loose.’ 

‘Do tell,’ Jaime said, pouring himself another glass. 

He really should have eaten a proper dinner this evening, he mulled to himself, but he hadn’t really felt up to it. 

‘Well you father strode off straight away, hurrying back to his car at the front of the house. And Sansa exploded. She went on a half an hour rant at Pod, Tyrion, The Hound and Bronn, asking them why she hadn’t been voted off. She’d asked all of them to do it you know.’ 

‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ Jaime said. ‘It surprises me that they didn’t.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Brienne said. ‘We all wondered why they hadn’t either. That’s why it took so long. Yara and Ygritte wanted to hang around and see the whole thing go down, but Petyr had given instructions that the eliminated contestants were to be gone from the house straight away and they were all ushered to their cars. By the time Sansa let your friends explain themselves only those of us still left were there.’ She took a sip of her drink. 

‘And how did they explain their selves?’ Jaime asked. Pod had been struggling with the idea of voting a woman off, even before the show started airing. The fact that he had a get out clause, that someone had actually asked him to get rid of them would have been too good an opportunity to pass up. 

‘It gets a little interesting here,’ Brienne said. ‘Well, as interesting as a reality show can get. Petyr’s made sure to keep your F&F as far away from each other as possible this week – he took all their phones from them as well, so they couldn’t discuss who they were voting off.’ 

‘I bet they loved that,’ Jaime said. 

Brienne shrugged. He found himself watching as her broad shoulders moved up and down in the dim bar, his thoughts trailing off to other ways he could watch those shoulders move. Underneath him. On top of him... 

‘It’s your family, so they still found some way to speak to each other,’ Brienne said, and Jaime blinked himself out of his fantasies. ‘They all knew that Sansa had asked to be let go. The Hound assumed that Pod was going to do it, since he’d been so worried about voting someone off. So The Hound voted off Ygritte.’ 

‘Right,’ said Jaime, although he was struggling a little to keep it all in his mind. In all truthfulness, he didn’t really want the entire story; he just wanted to know why it had taken Brienne so long to get here. 

But she seemed nervous. She kept fiddling with her fingers, then stopping and scowling at the bar when she noticed she was doing it. There was a new energy vibrating between them, one that Jaime very much wanted to explore. 

It couldn’t all be in his head could it? On one level, he wished it was. If Brienne felt nothing but friendship for him, he’d be okay. She was off the table, and there would be nothing he could – or would – do to change her mind. He’d go to Cersei, and be happy about it. 

But all he could think about was how sometimes her eyes dipped to his mouth when he was talking. Or how he could feel her gaze on him when he leaned over the bar, and he knew she wasn’t staring at his back, but a little south of there. How she smiled when he came on the TV. 

‘And then Bronn went, again thinking that Pod was going to vote Sansa off. When neither of the previous two had got rid of her, Tyrion was conflicted. He didn’t want Sansa to remain on the show, but he himself had been approached by Daenerys earlier in the week. She wanted him to let her go.’ Brienne frowned down at the bar. ‘Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, because she told everyone that she wanted you, not that long ago. But maybe she just didn’t want to be humiliated on TV when you ended up with Cersei.’ A distant part of Jaime’s brain traced that sentence to its natural conclusion – that Brienne had told all the other’s that the show was fixed – but it went quiet with another mouthful of champagne. ‘Which left Pod. Except, he’d been told by Petyr in no uncertain terms that he was to get rid of Ros or face the consequences. Pod was almost crying when he told us. I guess Petyr figured he couldn't leave Ros in there any longer.’ She signed, then downed the rest of her glass, pushing away the now empty cup. Jaime already knew she wouldn’t touch another drop. ‘Pod didn’t really have a lot of choice, and he couldn’t speak to anyone about it because he’d only been approached this afternoon. Which left Tywin and everyone knew he wasn’t about to get rid of Sansa.’ 

‘No,’ Jaime said. ‘Everyone thought he was going to get rid of you.’ 

‘Hmm,’ Brienne said, and then remained silent. 

‘He didn’t,’ Jaime said. He wanted to poke her, to make her open up to him, but Brienne had retreated back to her stoic and disengaged self. If he wanted to know what she was thinking and feeling he was going to have to get under her skin. ‘I suppose the billionaire’s daughter was too much for him to pass up.’ 

Brienne shot him a glare, and he glared right back. 

‘I wanted to tell you,’ she said quietly. ‘I was going to. But you started talking and telling me about your past, and it seemed stupid to bring up my father.’ 

‘It’s never stupid to share part of yourself with someone you care about,’ he said. React, he told her telepathically. Tell me you do care about me. 

‘I like that,’ she said, and Jaime felt his heart sink. ‘Did you watch tonight?’ 

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s not nearly half as fun without the others to be honest.’ 

‘They’ll be back next week,’ Brienne said. She picked up her helmet from where she’d stashed it on the floor. ‘Speaking of getting back, we should go to. We’ve taken up a lot of Davos’s time, and it’s been a long day. A long week, to be honest.’ 

‘You’ve just got here,’ Jaime protested feebly. ‘Stay a little longer.’ Brienne shook her head, already getting to her feet, and Jaime felt panic clutch his insides. She couldn’t leave. They needed more time. He needed these moments to last as long as possible so he could replay them once this was all over. 

She couldn’t just leave him! 

‘Tomorrow’s a Sunday,’ he said, stumbling to his feet, and following her to the door. He winced as she shouted their goodbyes at Davos, and even more so when they stepped out into the street, even though there wasn’t a single light on outside. The only thing he could see by was the light of the moon. 

‘How come you were drinking?’ Brienne asked as they walked to Oathkeeper – well, Brienne walked. Jaime staggered along in her wake. 

‘It was a celebration,’ he said. ‘You stayed in.’ 

‘I don’t know that that’s something to celebrate,’ she said, and he could tell by her voice that was she frowning. ‘After all I’m just going to be sent home next week.’ 

‘Don’t go,’ he said. 

‘Jaime, it’s been such a long week. I think we could both do with a good sleep. And you need to sleep off what you’ve consumed tonight.’ Her face appeared briefly under his for a second as she peered up at him. ‘You look like death.’ 

‘I didn’t mean tonight,’ he said. 

‘Jaime,’ Brienne said again, her voice tight, and Jaime wished he could have a lifetime to hear her say his name 1,000 different ways. He’d take them all. ‘What are you talking about?’ 

‘I’m saying you don’t have to go. If you wanted to...’ he couldn’t finish the sentence, but Brienne seemed to know where he’d been heading. 

‘If I wanted to, I could go on till the end? What, to get left outside the venue in whatever the loser of the contest gets to wear? No thank you.’ 

‘I don’t want our nights to end,’ Jaime admitted. He wanted to stay here, in this dark car park with Brienne. He knew when he woke up tomorrow, he’d regret everything he was saying and doing right now, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He had to tell her. Had to let her know. 

‘They’ve been good,’ she admitted. ‘But we both know they had to come to an end. Maybe it’s better to end them tonight,’ she said. 

‘No!’ The shout was pulled from Jaime, but he couldn’t have them over with and done like this. No matter what he’d said to Tyrion, with Brienne standing in front of him, and drink making his head swim it was so hard to focus on anything. On any of his reasons. ‘We’ve been granted this week, don’t let it be in vain.’ He tried for a smile, but thought it probably came out more like a grimace. 

‘You know,’ Brienne said, her voice a little shaky, ‘we don’t have to not see each other once you’re married. I know Cersei won’t like it, but she can’t tell you who you can and can’t see, can she? I’m not saying we should still meet up at night like this,’ she added hurriedly, ‘but we could get lunch now and then.’ 

Now and then. A few times a month if that, probably. He couldn’t have her in his life just for a few snatched hours here and there. 

‘That’s not what I want.’ 

‘Do you even know what you want? Look, let’s go back to the house and see if we can come up with a plan. I’m sure if we put our brains together -’ 

‘I want you,’ Jaime said. He was looking straight at the silhouetted figure of her, noticing when she froze. ‘I want you Brienne.’ The words silenced the questions and voices in his head. This was the answer, and he was finally ready to admit it. 

‘You’re engaged to another woman,’ she said quietly. 

‘Not really,’ he said, fighting back the images of Cersei. He couldn’t think of her right now. 

‘Both you and she are under the impression you’ll be getting married in two weeks time, so I think that pretty much makes you engaged,’ Brienne snapped. He’d finally got under her skin, and it was worse than he could have imagined. ‘Whatever this is Jaime, whatever game you’re playing I want no part of it. Whatever sick little toxic thing you and Cersei have going on I refuse to take part.’ 

‘I’m not playing,’ he said, inching closer. It was becoming clearer and clearer to him that there was only one way he was going to be able to prove he meant what he said to her. 

‘Just stop this,’ she said. ‘Stop it. It’s not funny and it’s not nice, and I don’t...’ 

He kissed her before she could finish. If she told him she didn’t want him he’d lose all his nerve. 

And then everything was gone from his mind, replaced only by the sensation of Brienne. 

He pulled away, thoughts and feelings coming back to him as the wind whipped between their faces. 

He wished he could find the regret. Felt it should be aching in every bone in his body for what he’d just done to Cersei. 

But he couldn’t find it. 

‘We’re done here,’ Brienne said, her voice steady. She turned her back on him, starting Oathkeeper before she’d even fully climbed on. 

‘Brienne,’ he called. He wanted to talk. Or for her to slap him. Just something other than the blankness she was giving him. 

‘Goodbye, Jaime Lannister,’ she said, and then she was gone, almost before Jaime had time to register it. 

This couldn’t be it. Their time couldn’t be over. That, he had to believe. 

Because she’d kissed him back. He might be uncertain of several things in his life right now, but that fact; that he was sure of.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's such a late update tonight! 
> 
> Also, thank you for your comments and how much you love this. It means the world to me <3 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jaime Lannister was a moron. 

Jaime Lannister was a moron. 

Jaime Lannister was a moron and whatever sick twisted game him and Cersei played, where they each tried to get with other people, Brienne wanted no part of. She wasn’t against open relationships, if that was what they had, but it was something she didn’t much fancy taking part in herself. 

Brienne pulled herself out of bed, going through the motions of getting herself and taking her time about it. She never wore body lotion, but Sansa had left this bottle in her room and why shouldn’t she apply it to every inch of herself, concentrating on every lump and bump of her body so she didn’t have to think about anything else? It took her an extra half hour to get herself ready, and even then, she delayed leaving her room for another five minutes. 

How was she supposed to look Cersei in the face? Didn’t the sisterhood compel Brienne to tell her about what had happened? What had been happening with Jaime and Brienne at The Bear Pit each night? Brienne had always lived her life with honour, and she hated that she was now debating if she should keep Jaime's secret or not. 

The thing was, Cersei seemed like the type of person who took ‘shoot the messenger’ to its literal definition. Brienne didn’t much fancy fighting for her life, just because Jaime had been drunk and lonely. 

Brienne sighed as she dawdled down the corridor. It was just her on this floor now, the other three contestants on the one below, with the bigger bedrooms. Ygritte’s and Yara’s doors stood open, showing their packed suitcases waiting ready by their beds. It wasn’t a rule that you had to pack your own suitcase every Saturday afternoon, as production members would be in the house later to do it for you, but both of them had been so sure they were being voted out, they’d done it themselves. 

Brienne swallowed as she thought about her packed suitcase, now flung open on the floor of her bedroom. She should have been at home now. Taking a stroll from her flat to the coffeeshop down the road, hiding behind the giant sunglasses Margaery had gifted her yesterday, with a baseball hat on her head to avoid the public. She should be thinking about getting back to work, and calling her father, and trying to get a few of her friends together for a catch up. Maybe having a lazy day on the sofa, doing the rounds of media so she could finally find out once and for all what had been said about her during this contest. 

Tywin Lannister was a moron. Was Brienne honestly surprised his son was too? 

The house was silent as Brienne made her way through it. The other’s must already be in the den, awaiting her arrival, waiting to see what their final task was. Brienne felt like a ghost as she walked the place she’d called home for the past four weeks. She’d said her goodbyes to it yesterday, letting Yara lead her on a goodbye tour, as they stood in corners and exchanged their fondest memories of their stay; Myranda and Ramsay falling out of the cupboard; the movie day they’d all had together; the time they’d caught Roslin having a dance party all on her own, and had all decided to join in. 

Maybe Brienne was a moron. If she’d ever really thought that once Tywin learned the truth about her, he’d see anything other than the billion pound signs. She should have realised he’d change his mind. But she thought the hate would be strong enough. 

She crossed the garden, noting the damp grass left marks on her boots, and trying to concentrate on her breathing. Her blank expression might not be perfect, but it wasn’t bad. It hid most of what she was feeling. She could watch Jaime on a screen without her true emotions showing. And it would only last for five minutes anyway. He just had to tell them what their final task was. 

Jaime Lannister was a moron. 

She let herself into the den, avoiding Margaery’s questioning stare, and letting a half smile form as she saw Sansa, sprawled out on the couch, her legs at one end, head at the other. Cersei was standing behind the couch, looking like she’d been chewing wasps. 

Jaime Lannister was a moron. 

‘Finally,’ Cersei said, throwing her head around. Brienne found it slightly impressive – Cersei had an awful lot of hair. It must weigh a ton, but she was always tossing it around like it was weightless. 

She wasn’t going to tell Cersei what had happened. It wasn’t her business to come between the couple. 

Not to mention that Brienne had seen Euron sneaking out again last night. When she’d been coming in, she’d heard footsteps and had thrown herself into the nearest shadows, waiting for her heart to stop pounding as she watched him creep out of the house. 

‘Sorry,’ Brienne said. ‘I overslept.’ She hoped the concealer she’d put under her eyes was doing its job. The bags there were giant today. 

‘It’s not like we have much to do today,’ Sansa said in a bored tone from the sofa. Brienne looked down at her. ‘We have to watch this and give our reactions and then Petyr wants to film us talking for the website. How do we feel about still being here? Where there any shock vote offs we want to talk about? Since we’ve made it this far, aren’t we excited that we could be marrying Jaime freaking Lannister in just two weeks time?’ She rolled her eyes. 

Cersei was still looking bored and annoyed at the same time, which was a feat in itself. She hadn’t reacted to Sansa’s words, and Brienne wondered if she knew that they knew. She imagined if she did that Cersei would be lording it over all of them, making snide comments about how none of it mattered anyway since she was the one for Jaime. 

But maybe she just didn’t want to be caught on camera. And she never spent time with them in the house. 

‘Are you going to stay there for the segment?’ Margaery asked. 

‘I’m going to stay here until Petyr sends somebody in to move me,’ Sansa said, stretching. ‘And I don’t mean getting Ramsay to yell at me. Until somebody literally comes in and picks me up, I’m staying here. They have the cameras, they can still film me. I’m still within the terms of my contract.’ 

‘You know,’ Brienne said, ‘I bet we could always get Theon to ride in on a white horse and rescue you.’ 

‘Theon wouldn’t do something like that,’ Sansa said. 

‘I bet you could always make him,’ Margaery said, her voice low. 

‘It’s already been done,’ Sansa said. ‘And anyway, anything like that and Petyr will tell everyone my secret. I’ve stayed this long, might as well stick it out one more week.’ 

‘Or two,’ Cersei said. ‘There’s two weeks left. You could make the final two.’ She flicked her gaze over Brienne. ‘You’ve got more chance than some of the others here.’ 

Sansa ignored her, turning her head back to stare at the blank screen. There was one lone cameraman in the middle of the room, fiddling around with leads and cables and muttering into a headset, taking no notice of the women in front of him. 

‘Where is everyone?’ Brienne asked. It seemed unlike Ramsay to turn down a chance to insult them. 

‘Apparently it’s been a really big news day,’ Margaery said. ‘Everyone is needed to deal with the outcome.’ 

Brienne felt another squirm in her stomach. She hadn’t even thought about her secret coming out. Everything else had been eclipsed, first by Sansa’s meltdown, and then by the meeting with Jaime. 

‘Ah,’ Brienne said. ‘Imagine that.’ She didn’t want to know what had been written about her today. What Petyr and Ramsay and others were saying to the press. What her father thought about the dramatic way in which the news had come out. 

‘You should have told everyone who you were,’ Cersei said. 

‘Why?’ Brienne said. ‘Would it have made you treat me nicer if you knew I was rich?’ 

Whatever was going to follow the indigent squeak Cersei let out was swallowed by the screen finally crackling to life. The cameraman had moved backwards, his camera aimed on the four women, his scowl deepening as Sansa ignored his hand gestures to sit up. 

Jaime Lannister was a moron. Brienne had to remember that. She had to focus on it. 

If only to stop her thinking about the five seconds when his lips had been pressed to hers and Brienne finally understood what this all could have been for. 

On the screen Jaime and Varys appeared. Brienne ignored the dig in the ribs she received from Margaery. Jaime’s blue shirt had been the first thing she’d noticed too, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t chosen the colour because of her. He was probably just running out of clothes to wear. 

‘And now, Jaime Lannister to tell you about the final task,’ Varys said, his winning smile as always intact. Brienne wished she could take lessons from him. He always had that smile on his face, no matter what, and she found it hard to believe that Varys never had inner emotional turmoil. Brienne herself was overthinking everything she was doing. Was she staring too much at Jaime? Would that give her feelings away? Was her expression interesting enough without being as hateful as Sansa’s? Why did Margaery keep shooting her little glances as Jaime told them all about the film premiere they would be attending? 

A premiere. A night where she’d have to get glammed up, and rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Where she’d be surrounded by women all thinner, and more beautiful than her. 

Oh well. She’d survived this long in a house full of those women. And made friends with them. She could do it for one night. 

The screen faded to black, and Brienne wished her heart hadn’t flipped a little. She wanted to look more at Jaime. While she had an excuse. 

‘Guys, come on,’ the cameraman said. Brienne wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him around before. ‘I need a little bit more of a reaction. Or just any reaction at all. Please.’ 

Margaery, like the switch inside her had just been turned on, bestowed a winning smile upon him, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and clapped her hands together. 

‘A film premiere. I love them! Walking the red carpet, and getting my photo taken. We’ll have so much fun girls! We can all get ready together, and try out different hair styles and make up. Cersei, I have the perfect lipstick for you.’ She reached a hand out to squeeze Cersei’s arm. 

Cersei swallowed. ‘Well, thank you, Margaery,’ she said, stilted. ‘What a wonderful idea.’ 

‘Great, another evening well spent,’ Sansa said. ‘Do you think we’ll actually have to sit though the film? We’ve been invited to a couple before, and they always told us we could leave once we’d walked the red carpet.’ 

The red carpet. Brienne felt a little spasm of nerves. Sure, she’d attended parties hosted by the most notable names of this day and age (usually as a thank you for a Sapphire product, or because they thought being nice to the Tarth’s would move them further up the list for a bag. It wouldn’t. That was one of the things Brienne and her father agreed on – their business and their list was fair. People got theirs bags in the order they put their name on the list. There would be no bumping or bribing or anything of the sort.) But she’d never walked a red carpet. She’d never posed for photographers. Hadn’t needed to smile perfectly at anybody in her life. 

She wondered if Margaery could teach her how to do that. 

‘Depends what the film is,’ Margaery said. ‘And honestly after six weeks mainly being in here, I’m looking forward to it. Come on, a couple of hours out. It’ll be amazing.’ Her joy was infectious and Brienne found herself a little buoyed up. She liked movies. And maybe the red carpet wouldn’t be so bad. She’d have Margaery and Sansa with her. 

‘I have a note from Petyr,’ said the cameraman and they all looked at him. He cleared his throat as he read from his phone. ‘Tomorrow you’ll be travelling to a small designer boutique in London. There you will try on dresses. You will need to choose one dress from the selection they offer you.’ 

Margaery actually gave a squeal at that, and even Sansa sat up, excitement in her eyes. Petyr had found the perfect way to get her back on side. She’d literally get to live out a rom com movie make over scene. 

Although Brienne had always wondered what the point of those scenes were. Changing into a hundred different outfits was tiring and time consuming, not fun and exciting like the girls in the movies seemed to think. Think of all the effort the poor retail staff had to go through to put all those clothes back. 

She’d have to wear a dress. An idea was creeping through Brienne’s mind, but she smiled as Margaery turned to her, nodding along with the others enthusiasm. 

Brienne already had a dress. A dress she’d been waiting for an opportunity to wear. 

As she left the den, after being informed that she needed to be back at 3pm to film this week’s interview for the website, an idea formed in her mind. 

She could fit her dress in a bag. Because she was going to wear ‘The Dress’ to this premiere. 

And then the feeling of Jaime's lips on hers pushed itself to the forefront of her mind again, and she hurried to her room before she could once again focus on last night. 

* 

‘You were in there for a long time,’ Sansa said as Brienne walked into the kitchen. Their dinner had arrived a few minutes ago, and her plate was sitting, waiting for her. 

‘Three hours,’ Brienne said, warily, taking her seat and joining the other women. ‘They’re not even going to put any of it on the main show, it’s all just for the website. I mean people can’t really be that interested, can they?’ she asked. 

She’d just had her Sunday interview. Usually these interviews took fifteen minutes at most, and the women were questioned about how they felt to still be in the contest, and how sad they were now the others had gone. Today, they had the added bonus of being asked about how they felt about the final task. 

And Brienne had the pleasure of raking through her entire time on the show, with the Sapphire light now shone on her moments. The guy asking the questions had been quite excited. He’d told her all about how Petyr was planning on cutting together a 60 minute mini episode for the website. It would feature all the moments where Sapphire had been talked about – Sansa's bag in Task Two, Sansa’s dress from the opening episode -, plus all the previous contestant’s reactions. Brienne’s interview from today would be in there too, as would a brief history on the entire brand, and Brienne’s father. Petyr had spent all day trying to get Selwyn to agree to be filmed, but he’d refused, apparently. He wanted to do his work, and that was all. All the public facing side of the business would be left to Brienne. 

Brienne figured that meant her father was back in the UK. Obviously if he was making the wedding dress, he’d have to be. He made sure to oversee every special design Sapphire was commissioned to do, even if he’d had nothing to do with the actual design. 

‘Oh, Brienne, I love you, but please don’t tell you don’t realise how big of a deal this is?’ Margaery said. She pulled her phone out from under the table, her fingers flashing over the screen as she pulled up what looked like a number of articles she’d just been bursting to show. 

Brienne raised an eyebrow at the phone so blatantly out on display but said nothing. With only four of them left, there wasn’t really a reason to be secretive about it. If Cersei said anything, they had plenty on her to counteract with. 

Cersei wasn’t really paying attention. She was moving the food around on her plate, occasionally slipping the odd bit of meat to Joffrey who was siting by her feet, as she stared blankly into the middle distance. Something was obviously on her mind. 

Brienne wondered about asking her about it, and then decided against it. She could feel a headache building, and she already knew that even just trying to show Cersei concern would just be shoved back in her face. 

‘I know it’s a big deal,’ Brienne said, turning back to the conversation. ‘But I thought it would only be the business faction that cared so much. I don’t know why the public is so invested. It’s not like I’m some secret love child that’s crawled out of the woodwork and is staking my claim. You think people would have better things to talk about.’ She privately thought that people would have better people to talk about but she wasn’t going to tell Margaery and Sansa that. 

‘Brienne, this show is currently the hottest thing on TV. It’s the show of the summer. And you know how obsessed people become with reality stars. Literally, everything any of us does from now will be written about in some way for a trashy tabloid magazine. Shae’s had her entire private life splashed over the pages of The Sun. Roslin’s had her siblings selling stories on her. Ellaria and Oberyn have just been offered their own TV series where they help other couples with their sex life. People are interested because it’s about you. They love you.’ 

Brienne chewed on her dinner so she didn’t have to answer. She was fighting every instinct in her body that was telling her to deny it. She couldn’t really. After all, she was still here. That meant that at least a couple of hundred members of the public were voting for her each week. And she’d heard that conversation at the medieval dinner. Sure, there were others out there being mean about her, but you couldn’t have everybody love you. And Brienne wasn’t a favourite to win because only a hundred people loved her. She knew these facts. It was just hard to gel them together with the low self-esteem she’d had most of her life. 

‘I mean the attention will die down somewhat, when the new lot of celebrity reality shows start, but most of us in here were already in the public eye, which means we’ll still be there after we leave. And most of us won’t need to resort to Twitter spats to get articles written about us.’ Margaery looked up from her phone. ‘Pia and Myranda. It got pretty ugly. I’m not sure where Pia got her information from, but she heard about Myranda and Ramsay in the closet and told everyone about it.’ 

‘Gods, I barely even remember Pia,’ Sansa said. ‘It feels like such a long time ago.’ Brienne nodded, her mind travelling back to those early days. When she’d been convinced she’d be going home at the end of the first week. Where she’d hoped for it. 

Maybe she should have taken a leaf out of Jaime’s book, and hired someone to make sure she had. It would have solved an awful lot of her problems. Except she didn’t know anyone who could hack into a voting system and change results and wouldn’t even know how to go about finding someone who could. The only one she knew existed was Bronn, and she only knew him by proxy. 

‘So, what did they ask you about?’ Sansa asked. Margaery was still tapping away on her phone, finding articles, and tweets, skim reading them and either shaking her head, closing them down, or nodding, leaving them up and moving onto finding the next one. ‘Mine was over and done with in twenty minutes. They asked me how I felt seeing my family, which my favourite day was, and how I felt about the F&F vote off. They didn’t ask me how I was feeling about still being in the contest, but I don’t know why I was expecting them to.’ She signed, a deep long-suffering sound. 

‘They asked me to talk about the party and how I felt not having my father there. How I liked the present from The Hound and if I’d forgiven him for the fight yet,’ Brienne answered trying to recall everything she'd just been asked about. Brienne didn’t even think about her fight with The Hound any more. As far as she was concerned there was nothing to forgive. ‘What I thought about Ellaria getting her happy ever after. Then they asked me about my favourite day.’ The interviewer had just been going through the motions at this point, his voice bored, as he hurried through the questions. Brienne had said that Pod’s had been her favourite. That she sometimes took living in London for granted, and although the day had been a bit of a wash out, she’d loved being reminded about the history of the streets she walked. ‘Then he asked about my fight with Tywin, and why I’d stuck up for you. I told them it was the right thing to do, and that I knew I was the only person who could take him on, without fearing my company being destroyed. And then we moved onto the company. Mostly it was just the history and how it had started and why I hadn’t told anyone, and how did I feel now the secret was out in the open. I told them it hadn’t really been a secret, so I was fine with it, but I did like the fact that it shut Tywin Lannister up. Then he asked how I felt about staying.’ Brienne tried to take a deep breath that nobody would notice, so that the lie would roll out of her more easily. ‘I said I was honoured that Jaime’s F&F had seen something in me worth saving, just like I was every time the public voted for me, but that I’m just taking it one week at a time and enjoying myself. I can’t even think about how this is going to end with a wedding, or being married to Jaime Lannister.’ She risked a peek at Cersei, but the blonde was still playing with her food. She had a phone next to her plate too, Brienne realised, but the screen was black and there was no light flashing to signal a message. ‘But it was all very boring and long. You seem in a better mood now,’ she said, turning the attention back to Sansa. 

‘I guess I just have to accept it. One more week, and I’ll be gone. There’s no way I’m going to survive this one, not with you three as the favourites, thank the Gods,’ Sansa answered. 

‘That’s a complete 180 from your attitude this morning,’ Brienne said. She was finding it hard to keep up with Sansa’s moods throughout this contest. She understood it was a lot for the young woman, but she seemed to have a different tactic for dealing with the situation every week. 

Sansa shrugged. ‘There is literally no way I can survive next week’s vote off. Plus, I get to play dress up and have a great evening out with my two best friends. I’m just going to wring the most fun I can out of it, and stop focusing so much on the whole ‘Jaime Lannister’ part of this contest.’ 

‘If you take the whole ‘Jaime Lannister’ part of the contest out, it’s been quite fun,’ Margaery said. She shoved her phone across the table at Brienne. ‘Although I don’t know that anyone’s had quite an exciting time like Brienne has. You’ve been beaten up, got reunited with your bike that used to be the suitor’s, broke the rules, took on Tywin Lannister and won, and revealed yourself to be the heiress of a billion-pound company.’ 

‘You have done a lot,’ Sansa said. ‘Although she hadn’t met the love of her life yet, like I have with Theon, so I’ve got one up on you.’ Sansa grinned at Brienne, who swallowed, before hastily shoving more food in her mouth, the memory of Jaime's lips pressing to hers swimming to the front of her mind again. It was fine for Sansa, dreamy, romantic Sansa to declare someone she’d really only met a week ago the love of her life. Fine for her to say she was in love with a guy already. But Brienne, logical, practical Brienne was going to shove whatever feelings she was harbouring for a certain man right back down where they belonged, and refuse to give them a name beyond a passing crush. 

If she thought about it, or let it get to her head, it would destroy her. 

‘Read those seventeen articles I’ve brought up, and then click on the Twitter app and look at all the liked tweets on the account that’s loaded,’ Margaery said, changing the subject. Brienne couldn’t meet her eyes, but was grateful for the distraction all the same. 

‘You haven’t liked tweets from your actual twitter account have you?’ Sansa asked. 

‘Sansa, sweetie, how dumb do you think I am?’ Margaery asked. ‘I made a fake account before the first episode. She’s called Clovis, and to be honest, she’s turned into a little bit of a stan account for Brienne, which wasn’t really my intention but there were just so many good tweets.’ Brienne looked down at the phone, clicking on the Twitter logo. The profile picture was a group shot of the last remaining ten contestants of The One. They’d done one shot, outside in the garden after Petyr had demanded it. It was blurred and cropped and half of Ros’s face had been cut off. 

‘Don’t people think it’s a little weird? This account just springing up out of nowhere and being all about the show?’ Brienne asked. 

‘You really don’t know much about the social media world of TV shows do you?’ Margaery asked, fake sympathy in her voice. Brienne shot her a dark look, but Margaery just beamed back at her. ‘These accounts always happen. Someone makes them the first evening, and then more and more spring up. We all have more than one account rooting for us, and those are run by actual strangers.’ 

The whole idea weired Brienne out. She was okay knowing that people were talking about her, but she wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to look. She knew Margaery would never show her anything bad, but it was a rabbit hole Brienne wasn’t sure she wanted to go down. Much better to keep it in the online world where it belonged. 

Margaery, however, was still looking at her expectedly so Brienne lowered her gaze to the phone screen, scrolling through the fake Twitter account’s liked tweets. 

The female friendships on this show are amazing! #TheOne 

How the hell did Sansa get through again? You’d think one of those guys would have got rid of her. #TheOne 

#TheOne I literally love this show, I spend all my time thinking about it 

#TheOne Brienne standing up to Tywin was amazing! I knew I liked her 

#Brienne. I fucking stan #theone 

I knew there was some connection between Brienne and Sapphire!!! Her face in task two when she held Sansa’s was a giveaway. Didn’t know she owned the company tho! Amazing! 

#Theone really has me on the edge of my seat. I can’t wait to see what happened each week! 

#TheOne. She had his old bike. She likes his favourite wine. She kicks the shit out of men. She smiles softly when she sees him. Jaime and Brienne all the way. 

Honestly, believe that Brienne is the perfect match for Jaime. #theone 

There were several more tweets about how good Brienne and Jaime would be together, and Brienne scrolled past them quickly. She couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t think about what maybe could have been if it wasn’t for Cersei. 

There was no point. If Jaime and Cersei hadn’t been dating Jaime wouldn’t have done this show, and he and Brienne probably would never have met. They wouldn’t have spent nights together, thrown against each other because they had nowhere else to go. Brienne had to be thankful for Jaime’s and Cersei’s relationship because without it, she never would have met Jaime. And she was glad that she had met him. Glad of those evenings at The Bear Pit, glad that Jaime had shared his secrets with her, and that she’d got more of a look at his world than she ever would have. 

She never thought the day would come where she was grateful for Petyr Baelish, but here she was. Without him she never would have met Jaime. Or built up her friendship with Margaery, or spent so much with Sansa. She wouldn’t have met Yara or Ygritte, or done any of the experiences they’d forced her into over the past few weeks. She wouldn’t know about the outpouring of support from people who had never met her, these strangers who apparently had been willing to buy all the stock from the Sapphire home ware collection when they thought that Tywin was going to ruin them. (Those tweets made Brienne smile.) 

This show and everything it had brought into her life was amazing. It was going to hurt like hell when it was all over, but Brienne would survive that. 

When her eyes started to burn with tears, Brienne quickly moved onto the articles Margaery had brought up for her. Most of them were just talking about Sapphire and how it had been established, and how her father was one of the only people in the world to create a billion-pound company from barely anything. There were photos of Brienne taken from parties where photographers hadn’t really paid her any attention but had taken a few shots of her anyway just in case. Photos of her with Sansa and the Starks, and photos from her time on the show. A few of the articles had her photo edited next to a shot of Jaime. Brienne moved on from those quickly. She didn’t need to look at them side by side to know how unmatched they were. 

She knew this was just one side of it. That there would be articles out there asking what she thought she was doing taking over a fashion company. There would be articles comparing the four remaining women, listing their pros and cons and which one was better for Jaime. 

But it was okay not to go and search for those. She didn’t need to read them. 

‘Thank you,’ she said pushing the phone back over the table to Margaery. ‘I didn’t think I wanted to see them, but those were really sweet.’ 

‘They outnumber the horrible things people have written about you,’ Margaery said, slipping the phone back into her pocket. ‘By quite a lot. There’s a lot of love for you out there, Brienne. It might not be quite the love you want, but it’s still there.’ 

‘Brienne are you crying?’ Sansa asked, shock in her voice. Brienne didn’t cry. And certainly not because she was emotional, or feeling loved. 

‘No,’ Brienne said, sniffing. ‘It’s allergies.’ The three of them giggled, and Brienne pretended not to notice that Sansa and Margaery suddenly seemed a little wet around the eyes too. 

‘There’s a lot of bad press about us too,’ Sansa said. ‘I’ve seen the articles talking about why I’m still here. Why I haven’t walked, how I must actually want to be here. How my family hasn’t staged a kidnapping yet, so they must want me here too. How I’m a dim-witted girlie girl who’s after fame and fortune.’ She shrugged. ‘If only they knew.’ 

‘There’s a lot about me too,’ Margaery said. ‘They think I’m riding on the coat tails of my Grandmother. There was an undisclosed source that told a paper I had a team of people working on my perfume design. Grandmother’s suing them of course, but there’s still a lot of people who think I’m only good at looking pretty and don’t have much substance.’ 

Brienne stared across the table at her friends. They had people who said bad things about them too, who saw the prettiness as a bad thing, who judged them because they spent a lot of time and effort on hair and make-up. 

‘But enough about what other people think about us,’ Margaery said, clapping her hands together, making Cersei jump and look around like she’d completely forgotten where she was. ‘We’ve got the dress shopping tomorrow and then we film the interviews the day after. Who’s excited? I can’t wait to get a new dress, I was so worried about what I was going to wear. I have nothing fit for a film premiere. Nothing.’ Brienne glanced at the purple dress covered with delicate pink flowers that Margaery was wearing today. It flowed to the ground and was gorgeous. 

‘Do either of you have a bag?’ Brienne asked. She hadn’t brought any with her, as she wouldn’t need to carry anything with her while she was here. ‘Only I already have a dress I’m planning on wearing, and I might need help sneaking it in tomorrow.’ 

* 

The shop they were dropped in front of on Monday was tiny. It took up barley a door frame on the street, and was overshadowed by the outlet store and bustling café that stood either side. 

‘I’m assuming it’s bigger on the inside?’ Sansa said. It was only the four women and Ramsay today. Petyr had informed them that they wanted this to be a more natural segment. (The inside of the shop had already been fitted with the other fifteen cameras and microphones the show needed.) Just four friends having a little retail therapy before finding the dress that would obviously fix all their problems. 

Brienne had had to cover her snort at that. 

As Sansa walked up to the doorway, pushing it open, Brienne tugged the handle of the Sapphire bag on her shoulder up again, to secure it. The only thing inside was The Dress, wrapped in a thin sheet of white packing material. When Ramsay had raised an eyebrow at the bag over Brienne’s shoulder, she’d shrugged and asked why shouldn’t she wear it? Ramsay had only shrugged. 

It was Sansa’s bag, the one she’d been allowed to keep with her from Task Two, but it had been the only bag in the house when they’d gone searching last night. It had been perched on Sansa’s windowsill, a shaft of early evening sunlight highlighting it, almost like it had just been waiting for them to come find it. 

Brienne gripped the handles as she stepped into the shop, the noise from the outside street instantly cut. Sansa had been right; the shop (Kingsguard), was a lot bigger on the inside. It looked like a posh bridal boutique, all soft grey carpeting, and relaxed slouchy sofas dotted around the circular floor space. Rails of clothes stood pushed up against the walls, all the colours of the rainbow, a stark contract to the beige painted walls. Four soft grey curtains hung to the floor opposite the front door, hiding the changing rooms from view, and there was a tiny discreet till tucked away in the back corner. 

Brienne owned a fashion company, and she’d never been anywhere this posh in her life. She felt unnatural just standing in this room, like she was too big to belong. For the first time in weeks, the cameras all seemed like they were focused on her, their stark black lens fixed, the little red light next to them already giving her a headache. The cameras usually faded into the background now days, although there was still the remains of a prickle on her neck when she passed by one she hadn’t previously noticed. Only on Saturday had Brienne realised there was a camera fixed to the wall on the outside of the den, right above the entrance. It would be prefect spot to listen in to conversations the women had had once they’d left the den. 

‘Welcome ladies,’ said a deep voice, and they all turned to face the figure that emerged from a hidden back room. Brienne couldn’t hide her shock as Renly – Margaery's ex-boyfriend, and Brienne’s first crush – spread his hands before them. ‘To my humble new venture.’ 

‘Renly,’ Margaery breathed out. ‘You didn’t mention this when we saw you. At the gym. Or the dinner.’ 

Renly shrugged, a silly smile on his face as he stared at them all. ‘I’ve only had the shop for four months. I needed something to do with Loras distracted by the gym, and I’d always had an interest in clothes. This little venue became available and I decided to snap it up. We haven’t actually opened yet, the big ceremony is set two weeks from now, but Petyr was having difficulty finding a shop that would let him in with all the cameras, so I offered my services. It will be an honour to find you all something amazing to wear.’ He caught Brienne’s eyes, and she smiled back. At least she wouldn’t be stuck with some snotty assistant who’d look Brienne up and down and remark to their collages that maybe they’d have something in the back. 

And Renly would help her sneak the dress in. It seemed that his shop sold all different types of designers. They were going to specialise in evening wear, and Renly already had an impressive client list. He had always been good at picking clothes out for his friends. Brienne had looked forward to birthday presents from him – he'd always choose a great jumper, or a fantastic t-shirt. 

‘This is amazing,’ Sansa said, squealing, as she ran to the nearest rack and started pulling dresses out and against herself. ‘As you may have noticed, I’ve stuck to wearing black for the last few weeks, but I’m thinking for my last big outing, I might actually wear some colour.’ She gestured to the black jeans, and black and white stripy top she was wearing today. ‘I’d like to come back in a big way – you know, before I go out.’ Sansa herself was at university, studying fashion. She’d always loved making clothes, and wanted to go into the business one day. 

Brienne had already offered her a job at Sapphire, and though Sansa had been honoured, she wanted to make a name for herself, not just in her friend’s company. Brienne understood and hadn’t offered again. Sansa knew the offer would always be open, even if she only wanted to accept it for a few months to gain some actual experience. 

‘I’m sure we can find something great for all of you,’ Renly said. ‘Please, take half an hour to look around and grab whatever you want from the racks. We’ll go through each of you one by one, so we can get the right effect for the cameras. And, Petyr would like me to ask you to choose some bad options. Just for the fun of it.’ 

‘I would rather wear something Yara would have chosen for me than a ‘bad option,’’ Cersei said as she swept up to another rack and started pushing the dresses away from her with a sneer. She’d been banned from bringing Joffrey today and had been in a bad mood ever since. 

Not that Brienne was sure what Cersei in a good mood looked like. 

‘I’m just the messenger,’ Renly said, holding his hands up in a defensive position. 

Once everyone else was occupied, squealing over dresses, and tossing possibilities over three separate sofas, Brienne sidled up to Renly, the Sapphire still firmly on her shoulder. 

‘I need your help,’ she said to him, making sure to keep an eye on Ramsay. The cameras would notice her with Renly of course, but she’d keep her voice low and hope they wouldn’t pick it up. 

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ Renly said. He squeezed her arm. ‘It’s good to see you again. We didn’t get to talk much last time.’ 

‘Not enough for you to mention this,’ Brienne said. Renly grinned at her, a little shamefaced. 

‘I know, I know, but it’s kind of hard to admit to Brienne Tarth of Sapphire Fame that you’re opening a fashion shop too. I see you’re wearing a Sapphire today. Did Petyr ask you to do that? It seems like the kind of thing he’d do.’ 

‘He didn’t,’ Brienne said, patting the side of the bag. ‘And that’s what I need your help with. I already have a dress that I want to wear on Wednesday. It’s amazing. I’ve been waiting for a chance to wear it out, and now seems like the right time. But I need to smuggle it into the dressing room, and pretend I found it here.’ 

‘Is it a designer we stock?’ Renly asked, taking the bag from her shoulder. ‘Because what happens when everyone sees you in the dress, which I’m assuming if it caught even your attention must be special, and people come flocking to us, demanding to see it?’  
'You can tell them it was the only one you had in stock, and you gifted it to me,' she said. When Renly's face didn't budge, she pulled out the only thing she knew wold work. ‘How would you like to stock some Sapphire items?’ Brienne asked. She usually hated bringing Sapphire to the table, pulling the name out, like it was a trump card to get what she wanted. But she knew Renly would love the chance to be the only place other than the Sapphire shop in London where you could buy their products. ‘I’m sure we could get a few special evening dresses here every few months or so.’ 

‘I’m sure you never used to be this crafty,’ Renly said, but he shook his head, and took the bag into Brienne’s dressing room. ‘Somebody in this contest must be rubbing off on you.’ 

Brienne didn’t want to think who he could possibly be talking about. Nobody was rubbing off on her. She was still the same person she’d always been. She hoped. 

There was a figure at her shoulder, and Brienne turned to look at Ramsay. 

‘We need you to look at the dresses too,’ he said. He didn’t add anything, but Brienne caught the slight flicker of his eyes as they passed over her frame. Whatever joke or thought he’d had, he kept to himself. He’d been nothing but polite to her since the news about her father’s business had broken. 

‘Alright,’ she said, then crossed over to the nearest rack. Sansa and Cersei had already gone through this one, and there were gaps where dresses had been removed. Brienne wished they’d be a little gentler with the clothes. Some of them were exquisite, almost works of art, and they deserved to be treated as such. 

She trawled through the dresses slowly, making sure to actually look at every one. Most people gave items a cursory glance and if there was nothing that grabbed their attention moved onto the next one. But Brienne liked finding the little details. Yes, this dress was a bright flashy orange colour that would do nothing for Brienne – but the beading down the front was amazing, made from tiny little glass beads that flowed all the down to the floor. The skirt on the next dress was more like a tutu, and wouldn’t suit the elegant look the show wanted them to go for – but Brienne liked the subtle shades of pink the dress moved through, starting at the top with a neon, and moving till the edges of the tutu were the softest pink. 

After an hour of looking, and half the shop being pulled out, each of the four women had their piles of dresses. Renly had looked a little sick when he’d come back out, eyeing the gaps in his racks, and shaking a little as he nodded at whatever Cersei was shouting across the room at him. Brienne hoped he had some assistant who would help him put the clothes back in their proper place once they were done filming here. It would take him forever otherwise. 

The piles were carried into the separate dressing rooms. Sansa and Cersei had the most, and even Margaery had a modest selection. Brienne had selected six dresses to try on, including one that she knew would look terrible on her. 

The one bonus of having a bad face meant sometimes you didn’t mind dressing to match. If everyone was going to remark on your ugliness anyway, why not have a little fun with your outfit? Brienne had had a phrase where she went out in the ugliest clothes she could find, just to see people’s shocked faces when they saw her. 

Cersei went first, and Brienne’s eyes glazed over after forty minutes. Cersei wore evening gowns on a daily basis, so seeing her in these dresses was nothing new. There was a little more glitter, and a lot more skin on show, but she’d gone for the same style time and time again. A floor length skirt. A tight top. A muted colour, like pale grey, or dark green. 

In the end, the one she decided on was a dark red velvet affair, that swept the floor. The bodice was covered in a golden thread, that carried all the way down, creating pleats in the skirt. It lifted Cersei’s chest up, till her boobs were under her chin, and she turned this way and that in the mirror, admiring her reflection. 

‘I have some gold shoes that will match perfectly,’ she said. Sansa and Margaery nodded, and Brienne quickly joined in. They’d already had to redo their reactions to the dress once Cersei had decided this was to be the one she wore on Wednesday. The show wasn’t actually going to show the women in the dress until they left the car on the night, but the girls had to show their reactions – Cersei had got them all sighing dreamy eyed over her pick. 

‘Did you notice,’ Margaery asked as Cersei went back to change into her normal clothes, ‘that she’s chosen Lannister company colours?’ 

Brienne hadn’t. But it made sense. Even though Cersei was going to win, the public had to at least seem on her side. And the best way to do that, was to show them how much she wanted Jaime. People would vote for her because she was the only one who would express how much she actually wanted to marry the suitor. And the fans would pick up on every little thing. The tweets Margaery had shown her proved that. There was no hiding anything from them. They’d pick over every little thing, putting their own spin on it, trying to make an entire story from someone’s facial expression. 

It was Sansa’s turn next, and Brienne was surprised at how weird seeing her in colour again was. It had only been a few weeks after all, but Brienne had become used to seeing the red hair streaming over dark clothes. Seeing her now in blues, and pinks, yellows and reds was odd. 

Sansa had picked a horrible dress and she left the dressing room in a long black witchy one, with trailing sleeves, and a lace up bodice. She twirled around the three-way mirror in it, admiring herself from every angle. 

‘You know, if I was sticking to my old plan, I’d wear this on Wednesday,’ she said. 

‘Then it’s a good thing you aren’t sticking to your plan,’ Margaery said. ‘But it’s hard to resist the chance to dress up isn’t it?’ 

Sansa was in her element, dashing in and out of the changing room. Sometimes she’d only let them have a peek at the dress before declaring it wasn’t good enough and flicking the curtain back over their view. 

After an hour, she slowly drew the curtain back, and left the changing room with her chin held high as she walked to the mirror. 

She was wearing a white lacy dress that fell in waves to her knees, and seemed to float when she moved. There were three gold buttons on the front, and she wore a little furry cape over her shoulders. 

‘I think this is it,’ she said. Margery clapped her hands together, and Brienne smiled at the sight of her friend. ‘This is the dress I want to make my come back in.’ 

‘It’s a good dress,’ Brienne said. 

‘Excellent choice,’ Renly said, stopping on his way as he ferried Cersei’s discarded items back to their place on the rails. Ramsay had been annoyed that he’d had to film Sansa from one side to make sure Renly wasn't in the way, but Renly had told him unless he was going to provide him with staff to do it, then there wasn’t much of a choice. 

‘You look like a bird,’ Cersei said, tilting her head to the side. ‘Like a little dove. Innocent and pure.’ 

‘There are worse things to be,’ Sansa said, smiling at the older woman in the mirror. 

Brienne thought that Sansa looked like a bride, and she knew Sansa was thinking the same thing. She always fell hard and fast for a guy, laughing when Brienne caught her glancing at wedding magazines, and she knew this thing was Theon was no different. Sansa was already declaring him the love of her life. 

For a moment, the shop around Brienne dissolved, and she found herself once again picturing the wedding at the end of the show. Brienne, in the Sapphire wedding dress, walking down the aisle, knowing she was heading towards Jaime. 

Then she blinked. That was never going to happen. 

Margaery’s turn took only half an hour. She’d selected three dresses that looked horrid on her – one because the colour washed her out, one that hung from her body in all the wrong places, and one that even Brienne in her own head called ugly, and wondered how it had made its way into Renly’s shop. It was a horrid rust coloured gown, with tiny little flecks of silver dotted all over it. It was short and tight and just downright depressing. 

‘Ah, yes,’ said Renly as he overhead them all talking about the dress. ‘Well, I didn’t really know which ones from the original twenty women would be coming here for this task. Me and Petyr arranged the details after Task One, and I started calling some pieces in. I thought this would appeal to a few of the others.’ 

Brienne knew who he was thinking of, but thought even those women would have better taste than this dress. She understood what the designer had been going for, but the colour was too dark, the silver too slap dash, and the cut too short. 

When Margaery finally left the dressing room in her selected dress, Brienne knew it straight away. She looked as much like a Disney Princess as Brienne had ever seen her in the pale blue silk dress. It had sleeveless top, and a bronze belt that cinched it in at her waist. There was elaborate braiding all over the top part, and the silk skirt flared around her thighs. 

‘It’s perfect,’ Sansa said, standing up and hugging Margaery. ‘I love it! I’m kind of jealous I didn’t spot it first, actually, but it looks so much better on you than it ever could on me.’ She sat back down, but was jigging her leg up and down like she just couldn’t contain her excitement. Brienne was happy. Sansa seemed to have got her spark back. 

‘You look really pretty, Margaery,’ said Renly, quietly. He’d paused to watch her in the dress. 

‘Thank you, Renly,’ Margaery said, running her hands over her waist. ‘I think you’re right. This is what I’ll wear on Wednesday.’ 

That was three of them decided. 

Now it was Brienne’s turn. 

The first two dresses were okay. There was nothing wrong with them, but as soon as she stepped out, Sansa and Margaery wrinkled their noses and shook her head, and Brienne didn’t even bother to make it over to the proper three-way mirror. There was one in the dressing room she could look at herself in before she showed everyone else. 

The third one was her horrid choice, and she almost shuddered as she put it on. It was the same pink colour as the dress she’d worn at the medieval dinner, although this one only swept her calves. It was a halter neck which exposed her broad shoulders, and Brienne couldn’t wait till she got to take it back off again. 

‘Absolutely not,’ Sansa said, and Brienne was back into the changing room within five seconds. Hers would be the shortest segment. The next two dresses were okay on her, but nobody reacted with awe like they had for the previous women. 

It didn’t matter to Brienne. She knew what was coming. 

The sixth dress was amazing. If it wasn’t for the other one nestled in her bag, Brienne knew this would be the one she would choose to wear. It was a black evening gown that hugged her body, with a glittering open back space and studded shoulders. It made her pale skin glow, and showed her back off to its full potential, which Brienne didn’t even realise it had before. But her back muscles were something to be proud of. The material hugged her legs and her taunt stomach. 

But it was way too sexy for her. Brienne liked the dress, and knew she looked a little better than okay in it. But she’d never pick this out for herself. Never see it online or in a shop and think about trying it on. It was only here today because Renly had presented it to her and she hadn’t had the chance to say no. 

‘Oh my Gods, you look amazing,’ Sansa said as Brienne showed herself to her waiting audience. 

‘You should wear stuff like that more often,’ Margaery said. Cersei said nothing, but Brienne could see the blonde in the mirror and she looked like she would quite like to stab something. 

‘No,’ Brienne said. She admired herself once more in the mirror, then turned her back on her reflection. ‘This isn’t me.’ 

‘It’s like the textbook definition of nice body, shame about the face,’ Cersei said. ‘And your face can be fixed. That’s literally why make-up and hair styling was invented. You should wear the dress.’ 

Brienne shook her head. ‘That might be the nicest things you’ve ever said to me,’ she said to Cersei who looked caught out, ‘but this isn’t me. And anyway,’ Brienne said. ‘I have something even better.’ 

The next time she emerged from the room, Sansa and Margaery both got a little teary around the eyes, and even Cersei’s eyes popped a little at the sight of her. Renly, who hadn’t seen the dress before stopped dead in her tracks. 

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You weren’t lying.’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said. She turned to the mirror, lifting one arm in the air, and watching the floaty material swirl in the air around her. ‘This is the the one.’ 

* 

Wednesday afternoon, Brienne found herself in a place she’d never set foot in before; the make-up trailer. Set a little ways away from the den, at the back of the garden, she’d stuck to her choice never to come here. She knew a few of the other women had spent lots of their time here, and that Cersei knew all of the make-up team by name. 

She hadn’t had a choice today. A memo – sounding more like a threat - had come from Petyr, telling them they all needed to take their seat in the make-up chair before the premiere tonight. There would be no slap dash make-up tonight. No messy ponytails, or quickly brushed hair. 

Tonight they all had to look perfect. 

Or, as perfect as some of them were ever going to get, Brienne mused, staring at her reflection in the giant mirror in front of her. She wasn’t really sure why anybody would need such a big mirror. It literally showed her the whole back of the trailer, where she could see everybody who came in and out, and what the outside world looked like. She could see the concentration on her make-up artists face as she frowned down at Brienne, peering at her face in the mirror, picking up and then discarding products that littered the table top in front of them. 

‘You don’t come here,’ the make-up artist said. ‘Not in this whole time the show’s been on.’ She had a slight accent, and a dark pixie cut. She didn’t sound angry that Brienne hadn’t visited her trailer before now. Just curious. 

‘No,’ Brienne agreed. ‘I don’t like the idea of having my face professionally done. Make-up is great, it is, and when I apply it, sometimes I feel like a slightly better version of myself. On those rare occasions that someone else has done it, I just didn’t feel like myself.’ Brienne like the mask make-up provided her with, but she still liked being able to catch her reflection and know it was her. Her eyes that stared back at her. Her previously broken nose that wasn’t highlighted to be a different shape, or her lips that were slightly too big for her face and not shaded so they appeared smaller. Her pale skin that had the worst of the spots and marks covered up, and wasn’t a different colour. 

‘We make you look like you,’ the woman said, smiling at Brienne. ‘You sit, and close eyes, and tell me about yesterday. All the ladies are dying to hear how the interviews went! Margaery said hers went very well.’ 

The last four contestants had been scheduled in for their make-up appointments. Margaery had wanted the first one, because she said she needed to spend longer on curling her hair to create perfect waves, Cersei had demanded the last slot, so she wouldn’t need to worry about keeping the make-up intact for the whole day, and Sansa had told Brienne that she couldn’t care less about when she went. 

Brienne closed her eyes, shutting out the photo of her in the dress she’d be wearing that was taped to the inside of the mirror. The make-up artist would refer to it, so she could choose the correct colour scheme. 

Apparently. 

‘It was okay,’ Brienne said, thinking of yesterday. The women had been taken from the house one by one, to travel a small distance away to a TV studio. In a black and white room, they’d sat on a chair, opposite Varys and one camera, answering the questions Varys put to them. 

Only two of their interviews would air. On Saturday night, the vote off wouldn’t be shown live. Instead, when the show came back from their last adverts, they’d show Jaime’s interview. And then the interviews of the two contestants who had made it through to the final. Petyr had warned them all they would film the usual vote off scene as well, with the ravens and the cloaks, which would be put up on the website, so the public could see their reactions. ‘Varys asked pretty basic questions.’ That had been what Brienne had been worried about. Varys’s questions. She’d overheard a couple of producers talking, so she knew Petyr had let him have free rein over what he asked them all. She’d expected probing questions, asking her all sorts of things she didn’t want to answer. 

‘Really?’ asked the make-up artist. Brienne wasn’t sure what her name was, and thought it would be too awkward to ask now. ‘Margaery said he gave her a little bit of a grilling. Asked all about how she thought her and Jaime’s families would work together if they were combined by marriage, and if Jaime would have a hand in her business, or she’d have a hand in his. Asked if her Grandmother would approve.’ 

‘Varys did ask if my father would approve,’ Brienne said, relaxing a little as a soft brushing motion started on her forehead and cheeks. She had no idea what was being applied, and she didn’t much care about asking either. ‘I said my father had been all for me signing up for this show in the first place, so he couldn’t really not like the choice of husband.’ The make-up artist laughed. 

The interview with Varys had only lasted a little over an hour. Brienne, even though she hadn’t wanted to, had timed all of the other’s women’s outings as well, noting what time they left and came back to the house. Theirs had all gone on for a little longer, and it made something squirm in her stomach hearing that Varys had grilled Margaery. Maybe she wasn’t the contender she’d been led to believe she was. She’d overhead one conversation and seen a few tweets, but did that actually mean she was a front runner? It could be a straight tie between Margaery and Cersei, and here was Brienne, deluding herself that a majority of people actually wanted her to win. 

A majority of people who would be disappointed next week when she didn’t. 

‘I like Varys,’ the make-up artist said. ‘He’s very good at what he does.’ 

‘He is an excellent host,’ Brienne said. She’d seen up close how unruffled he got when things went a little haywire, presenting that smooth calm face to the camera. 

‘I didn’t mean that,’ the other woman said. There was something tingling on Brienne’s lips, a cool liquid being pressed to her mouth with a tiny brush. It amazed her how much effort this whole thing took. There wasn’t just one brush, and one coat being applied. She’d had four different brushes on her face, and then a beauty blender, and then there had been more rubbing and smudging, and another brush for under her eyes, and the top of her mouth. She was trying not to think about what she’d look like at the end. 

She could survive one night. ‘He is a good host, yes, but he knows people. He knows what to do to get the best out of them. Girl’s like Margaery they enjoy a bit of harmless one up man ship. He wanted to show her to her best; so he tugs, and she tugs, and she goes bigger, showing everyone that she does have the quick wit and sharp mind of her Grandmother. He grills her about her family, because he knows how to get a rise out of her, but also because she knows how to play the game. You, he lets you be yourself. I think that’s best.’ She lowered her voice a little. ‘That’s why the public love you after all.’ There was a slight misting over her face, and Brienne worked hard to keep her eyes shut. She didn’t want to end up with a spray of whatever in her eyes. 

Maybe this woman was right. Brienne had felt her heartbeat pick up, just when Varys had asked why she thought her and Jaime would be good together. She’d tried to keep her gaze and her voice steady, but maybe Varys did notice the subtle differences. 

‘He is not the only one good at what he does,’ the woman said. ‘Look.’ 

Brienne opened her eyes, relieved to see that she still looked like herself. A more stunning version of herself that was true. But you could see that her nose was slightly wonky, that her lips were slightly too big, although that seemed to add something to her face when they were painted this dark shade of red. Her skin was still pale, but it was pale all over, whatever red patches she’d had being covered by the foundation that had been applied. Her eyes looked massive in her face, a subtle gold eyeshadow bringing out the blue. 

She looked different. But she still looked like Brienne Tarth. She could see those traces of her face that she saw everyday still staring back at her. 

‘You are very good at what you do,’ Brienne said, trying to speak around the lipstick on her mouth. 

‘Don’t worry so much about smudging it,’ the woman said, laughing. She poked at a spot on Brienne’s cheek. ‘The stuff I used, and sprayed you with is good stuff. Rain, food, water – whatever you want to put on, this make-up isn’t coming off without some hard scrubbing with warm water.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Brienne said, surprised to find she was a little choked up by this. She would look okay tonight. She would be able to stand with the other three and for once not feel like she was the odd one out. 

‘It’s what I do,’ the woman said, squeezing Brienne’s shoulder. ‘Now, go and get in this pretty dress you’re wearing. And get someone to do your hair. Show everyone you’ve come to get this man. And that you deserve him.’ 

* 

The lights were blinding, even behind the darkened windows of the car. A jittery kind of anticipation hung in the air, as the women made final adjustments to their outfits; Cersei played with the end of her perfectly crafted plait. Sansa smoothed down the skirt on her dress. Even Margaery was tapping one of her fingers on her knees every few seconds. 

Brienne swallowed and tried to keep the count of her deep breathing. One of the things she’d taught in her self-defence classes, was to try and stay calm. Don’t panic. She had breathing methods that she used to teach, promising the people who came to her that this would slow their racing heart, keep their anxiety at bay on dark nights when they were walking home alone and shadows made their blood pressure spike. 

It wasn’t working. 

This would be their first time facing the public. The first time since the show had aired that they were supposed to talk to viewers, supposed to pose for photos. They’d been told to interact with the fans that were lining alongside the red carpet tonight. To stop and answer questions from news websites, and bloggers. Ramsay and his crew would be there too, obviously, following them with smaller cameras, so as not to get in the way of the press, so that there would still be content for the show on Saturday. 

The car slowed to a stop, and Brienne felt her heart beat spike. This was it. She couldn’t refuse to get out of the car, and make the driver turn around, and take her to somewhere safe. She couldn’t hide away from this. 

And anyway, she didn’t want to. A lot of people had worked hard on her all day, and she wanted their work to be seen. To be talked about. 

The door opened, and as planned, Cersei was the first one out. She glided out of the car, escorted by a bland male model type in an all-black suit who would take her to the start of the carpet, and then let her go. He’d come back for the rest of them one by one. 

‘Considering this is meant to be a glamorous event, why do we all look like we’re about to be sick?’ Margaery said. ‘Come on girls. We can do this in our sleep! We all look amazing, and we all know the public love us. What’s there to be worried about?’ 

‘I guess when you put it like that,’ Sansa said. A cheer went up from the outside, and she stiffened. ‘I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s so silly.’ 

‘We’ve been in a bubble,’ Brienne said. ‘A little bubble of our own, back at the house. We might have had a glimpse of the outside world behind a phone screen, but to face it now, and in such a big way...it’s scary.’ 

‘Yeah, what Brienne said,’ Sansa replied. The car door opened again, and she took a deep breath, pasting a regal expression on her face. ‘It’s scary, but they don’t have to know that.’ She let herself be hauled out of the car, and then the door was shut once more. 

‘Quick,’ Margaery said, turning to Brienne. ‘Give me any updates about you and Jaime. I’ve been dying to ask, but it’s so hard to get a moment alone with just the four of us left. I was tempted to come wake you up last night just to ask!’ 

She could tell Margaery about the kiss. About how she couldn’t stop thinking about it, and about Jaime in general, and how she had to keep telling herself it was pointless to wish, to hope, to dream... 

‘We’ve seen each other again,’ Brienne said, hating that it sounded like a crime she was confessing to. ‘We did what we usually do – talked. He’s still in love with Cersei. Still going to marry her in less than two weeks.’ 

‘Have you told him how you feel?’ Margaery asked, leaning forward, her words racing together as she tried to get them out quickly. ‘Because I think if he knew that you had feelings for him, he might...’ 

‘Might what, Margaery?’ Brienne snapped a little harsher than she meant to. But Margaery was talking like Brienne hadn’t considered any of her options. Like she hadn’t wondered what would happen if she’d kissed Jaime back for longer. Cupped his cheek in her hands, and tangled her fingers in his hair. If she’d showed him or told him... ‘Him and Cersei have been in love for thirty years. He’s done all of this just to be with her.’ Brienne’s new nightmare was telling Jaime how she felt, just to have him throw it back in her face. Oh, he’d be nice about it, she was sure about that. But he’d let her down gently. She wasn’t enough for him. ‘Five weeks of feelings isn’t enough to override thirty years of love,’ Brienne said. 

Outside there was another loud cheer. The model would be back any moment now to get Margaery. 

‘Brienne,’ Margaery said, muttering a curse word as the car door opened. Before she took the arm she was being offered, she lent forward and gave Brienne a hug. ‘You’ve always maintained that nothing about you is normal; why should your love story be any different?’ With that, she was gone in a whirl of blue silk and ocean scented perfume. 

* 

The Dress was a triumph. As soon as Brienne emerged from the car, the gauzy material swirled around her, creating the illusion of fire. In deep purples, blues, whites, and yellows, it swirled to the ground like clouds, the sleeves practically touching the floor too. Brienne, always so used to trying to hide how tall she was, stood proud as she walked up the red carpet. This dress was supposed to be worn by someone standing tall. It needed every inch of her height to be showed to its full advantage and it deserved to be shown. 

Brienne concentrated on the dress. She concentrated on the feeling of chiffon around her bare legs, on the way the material ruffled up in the air as she moved her arms and then dropped back to the ground gracefully. She concentrated on smiling at the glowing faces in front of her, all begging for her autograph. She concentrated on watching Sansa and Margaery and Cersei work the carpet like a pro, laughing a little as someone asked her to copy their pose with one hand on her hip and her chin jutting forward. She did it for one second, before she broke, and moved back to her natural pose of one arm across her body resting on the opposite hip. She always felt more comfortable with her arms crossed but she knew that was out of the question here. 

All together, they were probably only on the carpet for thirty minutes. They were moved off swiftly, when the stars of the film arrived and Brienne felt her whole body sag with relief once they were behind the glass doors of the cinema. There were no cameras here. No fans. Just very rushed assistants with headsets and clipboards telling them where they needed to be. The four of them were sat in the very back row of the theatre, with Brienne right at the end. 

It was over and done with. She never had to attend another one of these again, although now her secret had been revealed she knew she couldn’t hide from the cameras anymore. They’d be there at all the parties she attended, or waiting for her at the local corner shop when she had popped out for toilet roll. It had happened to both Sansa and Margaery before, and both had refused to leave their house for a week afterwards. 

Even though the worst of it was over, Brienne couldn’t seem to get her heartbeat back to normal pace. She was fiddling with her fingers, and even when the lights went dark, and the film started, she couldn’t concentrate. It was some sappy romance film, with very little comedy, and it failed to hold Brienne’s attention. The Lannisters’ clearly weren’t bothered about the quality of the films they invested in. 

‘Are you okay?’ Sansa muttered to Brienne. She hadn’t realised she’d been squeezing the armrest between the seats. 

‘Just a delayed reaction,’ Brienne said. ‘I might go out for some fresh air.’ 

‘I don’t even know why we’re staying,’ Sansa said. She turned to peer at Brienne. ‘You don’t look well. Maybe fresh air is a good idea.’ 

Brienne nodded, and stood, walking on shaky legs towards the back door. She hadn’t had a delayed reaction to a stressful situation since she was a teenager. Her first ever job interview had gone fine, and she’d sailed through it, but she’d had to sit in the car on the way home with her head between her knees. She’d be fine in about half an hour, she remembered that. But she'd dealt with plenty of situations here that should have given her a delayed reaction. She didn't know why it was suddenly happening now. Why her anxiety had sky rocketed. 

A very nice assistant directed her to a small back door, where there was a tiny ally leading to a bunch of cars, ready and waiting to take early leavers wherever they wanted to go. 

There was only one place Brienne could think of to escape to. Jaime wouldn’t be there. And even if he was, well so what? She’d have to deal with seeing him again sometime. There would be a wrap party a week after the wedding after all. She couldn’t avoid him at that. All the contestants had already been told that they’d meet the suitor for a five-minute segment for the website after the contest had ended. 

‘The Bear Pit, please,’ Brienne said as she climbed into the back of a car. She gave the name of the street the bar was on, and settled back against the seat, watching as she left the glittering premier behind. 

* 

The bar was dark when the car dropped Brienne off. She gathered her skirts, and got out, looking cautiously around, her senses tickling. There were no lights on in the windows, and the neon pink sign was turned off. The air around was stifling with quiet, the car not having waited around to see if Brienne wanted a lift back. 

Which meant she’d either have to walk back in the heels she was wearing, or see if she could find Davos anywhere. Probably he was just closed so he could repair some aspect of the bar. Maybe Jaime had paid him to close the bar again, but she’d been outside for almost five minutes now and nobody had come to open the door. She walked forward, trying the handle, unsurprised when it was locked. This didn’t feel like something Jaime would do. 

Resigning herself to the walk home, and cursing her lack of forethought, Brienne turned just at the wrong moment. A shadow, slinking across the side of the building caught her attention, and she paused. 

She shouldn’t follow it. She should turn around and walk up to the big pub, and ask if they had a phone so she could call a taxi. She should leave. 

This was how people got murdered. 

She sighed, angry at herself for never being able to leave anything alone, and crept along to the side wall where she’d seen the shadow. Someone was lurking around, and what if they’d done something to Davos? He looked like he’d be able to take care of himself, but he wasn’t young by any stretch. If he’d been here all alone, someone could have seen an opportunity. An empty bar, an easy to break open cash till...anything could have happened. 

Brienne stuck to the side of the wall as she crept around the back of the building. She hadn’t been this way before, most of her visits taking place either inside the bar, or in the small car park out front, but she remembered Davos saying something about a small alley out the back. 

What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just leave this alone? Yes, she liked Davos, but this wasn't her problem. She should walk away, find a phone and call the police and ask them to check it out. She should leave.  
The only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat, but as she peered around the edge of the building, she could see a few shadowy figures down at the other end of the alley. There was a car down there too, and the only light came from a single lamppost, too far away to show any faces, and tiny little flickers of cigarette ends. Whoever these people were, they were clearly waiting for something. 

There were no whimpers coming from someone on the ground, though. Nobody huddled on to floor, begging with them to let him go. If they had Davos, he was either in the car, or had been knocked out and dragged somewhere else. 

She couldn’t leave without making sure. It could just be a group of teenagers, having found a spot to hang out without prying eyes. But the prickles were still creeping over Brienne’s neck and she knew she couldn’t just walk away. She’d confront the group. Ask what they were doing. She was just a concerned citizen, asking after her favourite barman after all. And it wasn’t a lot of people down at the end. She could handle them if she had too. 

She hoped. 

She lent her head back against the cold bricks for one second, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. 

When she opened them again, it was to stare into the dark eyes of a man she’d never seen before. 

* 

‘Who are you?’ the man asked. Well, asked would be putting it politely. He practically spat the question at her. His hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and he wore beige trousers with a thick belt and a white tank top. He wasn’t a teenager, that was for sure. And though his muscles rippled under his top, and along his arms, Brienne knew in one to one combat she could take him. 

It was his friends, still at the other end of the alley she was worried about. If they all looked like him, or were bigger than him, she‘d have no chance. 

‘My name is Brienne,’ she said, making sure her voice stayed calm. If she showed weakness, she’d be preyed upon. She could see that. ‘I’m a regular at this bar, and I wanted a quiet drink.’ 

‘Bar’s shut,’ he growled. ‘Why don’t you go home?’ 

‘I want to see my friend,’ she said. ‘He’s the barman here. I want to make sure he’s okay.’ 

‘You think we hurt the old man?’ the guy asked. ‘What about me makes you think I’m a killer?’ He leaned into her space, but Brienne held her ground. The way he said the word killer had spooked her. She hadn’t said anything about Davos being killed. 

‘You’re hanging around a closed bar,’ she said. ‘Skulking around in a dark alleyway. Why should I trust you? You’re a perfect stranger to me.’ There was a sound behind Brienne, but she refused to turn her head. She wasn’t going to be distracted. ‘I just want to make sure my friend is okay.’ 

‘The old man is fine,’ said a voice behind her, and another man, this one larger than the first stepped into her space. She was backed up against the wall, with nowhere to go. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ 

‘I have just as much right as you do,’ said Brienne. ‘It’s a public place.’ 

‘You do not want to be here tonight,’ said the second man. 

‘I happen to care about this bar,’ Brienne said, hotly. She didn’t like being told what to do at the best of times, and with these men so close her nerves were so close to the surface. She would disguise them as anger. ‘I’m not going to let you do anything to it!’ 

‘It’s not the bar we’re interested in, sweetheart,’ said the first man, and Brienne would have punched him just for calling her sweetheart, had she not been distracted. Walking towards their little group was a figure, whose hair seemed to glow silver in the moonlight. 

‘Gentlemen, what appears to be the problem?’ the figure called out. ‘I was told he hadn’t even got in the cab yet, why are you leaving your posts...Brienne.’ Daenerys Drogo stopped short, staring at Brienne. 

Brienne stared right back. She hadn’t seen the woman since she’d made a sharp exit once Tyrion had voted her out. She hadn’t wanted to stick around and explain why she’d been asked to let go from the contest when she’d been telling everyone how much she’d wanted Jaime just a few weeks before. 

‘Daenerys, what are you doing here?’ Brienne asked. This didn’t make sense. Why was Daenerys at The Bear Pit? 

‘’I have a pressing engagement to attend to,’ Daenerys said. Brienne thought about the empty bar behind her. What kind of engagement would happen in the back alley? 

Maybe she was better off not knowing. Daenerys was here, and that was fine. Brienne could turn and walk away...except. Except she still didn’t know what had happened to Davos, or why the bar was closed, or even what the deal with Daenerys was. Her danger senses were still prickling and she’d heard Daenerys talking about some guy who hadn’t gotten into a cab yet. Whoever he was, Brienne feared for him. 

‘Why are you here?’ Daenerys asked. 

‘I know the barman,’ Brienne answered. The moon was full, and casting enough light to see the faces in front of her, but not much behind them. The two men who’d been crowding her had stepped back when Daenerys had appeared. ‘It’s not like him to close the bar. I wanted to make sure he was okay, and I saw someone sneak back to the alley. They looked like they didn’t want to be followed.’ 

‘So you followed them,’ Daenerys said, like that made perfect sense. Of course Brienne would follow someone being sneaky. ‘I assure you the barman is fine. There was a tip off about a gas leak out front, so he’s closed up for the evening, while the council are sending some professionals out to look at it. It was the smart thing to do.’ Daenerys sounded so matter of fact about the whole thing. 

‘I don’t smell any gas,’ Brienne said. Davos was at home. She believed that. Daenerys had seemed so flippant about it, like he didn’t even matter. She wasn’t here for him, or for the bar. She had someone else in mind. 

‘I predict your friend will wake up to a text giving him the all clear to open up as normal tomorrow,’ Daenerys said, smiling. It wasn’t the happy smile she’d worn for the cameras, but rather the one she’d worn when she showed them all her daggers. It sent chills up Brienne’s spine. 

‘My moon, I have the text. The cab is leaving the hotel now.’ There was another guy, this one the largest so far approaching their little group. ‘Ten minutes, and you shall have your revenge.’ The guy nuzzled the side of Daenerys's neck, before noticing Brienne before them. ‘Do you want us to take care of the girl?’ 

Brienne bristled. She wasn’t leaving. Not until she had some proper answers. 

‘Tell me what’s going on,’ Brienne said, levelling her stare at Daenerys. ‘Your guys might be bigger, but you’ve seen me fight. You know I’ll win. I’m not leaving until I know what this is all about.’ Daenerys’s gaze strayed to Brienne’s dress, but it was the furthest thing on Brienne’s mind. She’d rip it off if she had to. And these heels would be a killer weapon. 

‘Fine,’ Daenerys said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, placing a small hand on the large chest of the guy who’d called her his moon. ‘Brienne doesn’t have any love for him either. You should have heard her talk about him. She hates him almost as much as I do.’ 

The chills were picking up speed now, coldness spreading to every limb in Brienne’s body. 

‘Jaime Lannister murdered my father,’ Daenerys said. ‘And tonight, I’ll finally get to murder him.’ 

‘Aerys Targaryen was your father?’ Brienne muttered through numb lips. 

‘Yes,’ Daenerys said. ‘All those details I shared at task two were correct. I’d been waiting for a chance to get Jaime ever since he stabbed my father. I couldn’t have done it without Khal here, though. Khal Drogo,’ she said at Brienne’s questioning look. ‘My husband. He was my father’s right hand man, and after he was brutally taken from us, Khal sought me out. We wanted revenge on the same man. Falling in love was just a bonus.’ She exchanged a sappy look with the big guy. ‘He was the one who found out about Jaime being the suitor on The One. He placed a spy in the Lannister company and they’ve been feeding us secrets for a year. If we weren’t only after Jaime, we could bring that place to the ground within a week.’ Brienne knew it was important to stay silent, to let Daenerys get it all off her chest. 

Plus it wasn’t like she could walk away now. Jaime was about to walk into a trap. And Brienne had to be here. She had to protect him. 

‘We slipped my photo from a gossip column into the stack of potential contestants on Tywin’s desk. I knew as soon as he saw me he wouldn’t be able to resist having someone so beautiful compete for his son. Even if he didn’t know who I was.’ In one detached part of Brienne’s brain, she wondered what it would be like to be that confident in your looks. Then she wondered if the film was over now. If Margaery and Sansa were leaving, looking out for her. They’d realise that she’d left. Go back to the house. Get on with their evening. ‘It worked. Littlefinger productions tracked me down and I was offered a spot. I had it all planned out. I was going to be the doll on Jaime's arm. The one who’d simper next to him at parties, and hang on his every word. I would win the public over. Except I didn’t.’ Daenerys’s looked over at Brienne then, and though trying to sum her up. ‘You did. They loved you, I saw it all over social media every Saturday evening. They liked your bite. They liked that you were tough. Thought you’d be a good match for Jaime. So, I tried to give myself some bite too. I brought my daggers, and I told the truth – as much as I could get away with.’ Daenerys’s fingers drifted to her side, and though it was too dark to see what she was tracing, Brienne recalled the wicked gleam of a sharp dagger. 

Her fists would be no use against a blade. ‘I wasn’t in the top three, but I was working my way towards it. And then you told us it was all fixed. No matter what I did, I wasn’t going to win.’ Her words were coming quicker now, and she paced a little on the spot. Brienne strained her eyes, waiting for the purr of an engine. She was praying for traffic. An accident that meant Jaime couldn’t get here tonight. 

Maybe he wasn’t coming here. The thought seized her suddenly. Why would he? Davos wasn’t here to call him and tell him she was here. And Jaime wouldn’t just come by on the off chance. If that kiss had just been a drunken mistake, a moment of weakness, a dash of cold feet before his wedding, then he’d feel as bad about it as Brienne did. 

He could be going to Cersei. Maybe they’d arranged to meet at a hotel somewhere, to spend the night together. Brienne prayed with all her heart that that was the truth. Even though her heart ached at the thought of Jaime and Cersei together, she would be grateful. If it meant he would be safe. 

‘I asked Tyrion to get rid of me. What was the point? I wouldn’t get to spend the wedding night with Jaime, and get my revenge then. I had to come up with a new plan. We put a tail on Jaime. He thinks he’s so smart, and so sneaky but everyone knows he doesn’t stay in the house he’s supposed to be in during the week. Our tail told us that he comes here each evening. We arranged for the barman to close up, and now we wait.’ There was the sound of an engine and all Brienne’s hopes died. 

Daenerys’s smile grew. ‘And here he is now, the man of honour.’ 

Brienne licked her dry lips, her brain scrambling frantically to try and find some way to get out of this. The men from the back of the alley had come to a stop behind Daenerys. There were seven of them all together. Plus the daggers. 

‘What about the cab driver?’ Brienne asked. ‘You can’t hurt an innocent man.’ 

‘The cab driver is our trail,’ Khal said, like Brienne was stupid and should have figured that out. ‘How else would we know when Jaime would be ready.’ He spat Jaime’s name like it was a curse. 

Brienne had connected Daenerys’s story with the one Jaime had told her. Khal and his friends must have belonged to the gang Aerys was in charge of. The ones who set the fires at the clubs. Who wanted to murder innocent people. 

‘Daenerys please don’t do this,’ Brienne pleaded. She had to make the young girl listen. ‘You can’t hurt Jaime. It won’t make the pain of losing your father any better. It won’t bring him back.’ 

‘I know that,’ Daenerys’s said, taking a step back, her eyes hardening. ‘I let you stay because I thought I could count on you. You’ve always looked disgusted when Jaime’s name comes up. You called him a murderer. You talk about how you don’t like him. I know the fans think you love him, but they see what they want to see.’ Daenerys’s violet gaze settled on Brienne’s face. ‘Unless they see the truth. Do you love him Brienne?’ 

‘I,’ Brienne said, but her attention was diverted by the sound of a slamming car door. At once, all of the men turned their heads, then walked off, away from the two women. 

‘Jaime spends his nights here. And then you show up, out of the blue. You meet him here, don’t you? That’s how you knew it was fixed.’ 

‘Daenerys, I am begging you. Please don’t hurt him,’ Brienne pleaded. If she thought her heartbeat was fast earlier, it was nothing compared to now. She felt like hummingbird, like her vital organ was just going to break out of her chest and go spinning off. ‘He’s a good man, he is. I know it’s hard to believe, but there’s more to the story. More about why he did what he did. He didn’t want to hurt your father, but he had no other choice.’ There were shouts, and Brienne whirled around. She had to help Jaime. She had to talk Daenerys out of this. She had to...she had to. 

‘I know my father wasn’t the best man,’ Daenerys said. ‘But he was still my father. Jaime made his choice, and I’ve made mine. There’s no point trying to stop me, Brienne. You can try and help him.’ From her belt, she withdrew the long black dagger. It looked even worse in the moonlight, the edges only a blur, her slim pale hand wrapped around the handle. ‘But you’ll just end up getting hurt too.’ 

There was another yell then, and Brienne pushed away from the wall. Daenerys was a lost cause. Brienne could stand here and try to talk to her all she liked, but she would be wasting her time. She had to help Jaime. 

They were all on him, all seven of them. He was holding his own against two of them, but the others were raining down on him, and he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. 

Brienne tore the skirt from her dress as she ran, and kicked her heels off to the side. She needed movement and access. 

She went straight into the middle of the fight, taking one of the men Jaime had been fighting, and laying a punch right on his jaw. He stumbled backwards, and she kicked out at another man who had been punching Jaime’s back. He buckled and was down on the floor in a moment as Brienne kicked at him again. 

There were yells. And shouts. Bones crunching, and flesh on flesh, and gritty rocks under her feet, and blood under her fingernails. Brienne wasn’t sure really what was happening, only that her and Jaime were back to back and fighting whichever man came their way. She’d take one down, only to be onto the next, and by the time they were down, the first one was up again and coming at them. She could hear her yells and her grunts as she used all her moves, all her tricks, all her dirty fighting skills to take them down again, and again and again. She was lucky. They seemed reluctant to hit a woman as hard as they would a man, although she could tell she was riling them. She wasn’t holding anything back, although they were aiming more for her stomach and legs than her face. The dress would be ruined. Her feet were screaming as they got stepped on, or stepped on a sharp piece of gravel. She could feel the blood running down her arms. But she couldn’t stop. She could still feel Jaime at her back, and he was still standing, which meant she would be too. 

‘Enough,’ said a booming voice, and at once the men dropped their hands, and stepped back. Brienne whirled around, cursing her mistake as soon as one of the men grabbed her arms and pulled her backwards. 

Daenerys was striding towards them, her dagger held in her hands. 

‘Jaime Lannister,’ she said. ‘How good to finally meet you.’ She stared at him, a cruel smirk on her lips. ‘You can’t imagine how long I’ve waited for this moment.’ 

‘Your eyes,’ he said, and Brienne could have cried with relief. She could see the blood matted in his blond hair. He was unguarded for the moment, but he was alive. For now. ‘You’re Aerys daughter. I should have seen it before now.’ 

‘Yes, you should have,’ Daenerys said. ‘But then observation has never been your strong suit has it?’ She reached out a finger to stroke his cheek. ‘You killed my father.’ 

‘I did,’ Jaime said. ‘He needed to be stopped.’ 

‘And why was that your decision?’ Daenerys asked. ‘What makes you think you get to play God?’ 

‘Because it was the only way,’ Jaime said. ‘I think about him every day.’ 

‘Don’t you dare!’ Daenerys said. Brienne could hear the laboured breathing of the man holding her. If she could just angle herself a little...on the pretence of shifting a little, she managed it. She needed one second for her escape move. 

But she needed to time it right. 

‘Don’t you dare talk about him. You don’t get to do that. You should have gone to jail.’ 

‘It was the only way to stop him,’ Jaime said. ‘I don’t regret it.’ 

Gods, Jaime really was an idiot. 

‘And I won’t regret this,’ Daenerys said, as she lowered the dagger. 

Brienne stepped on her captor's insole, elbowed him in the stomach, kicked up into his groin, and then ran as he dropped her arms, thanking the Gods that she’d watched Miss Congeniality just a few weeks ago. 

The next thing she knew was a piercing pain down the right side of her face. Daenerys’s dagger was as sharp as it looked. 

‘Brienne,’ said a stunned Jaime behind her. She hadn’t known she was going to jump in front of him either. She wasn’t entirely sure she’d meant to. Her thought process had been to knock him out of the way, not to take the blade herself. 

‘Brienne,’ Daenerys said. ‘What have you done?’ She pulled the dagger from Brienne’s cheek, and Brienne was distracted for a moment, staring at the red waterfall that spattered the pavement below. Even though the pain was nothing like she’d felt before, she pulled herself to her full height, to tower over Daenerys. 

‘He’s a murderer, but you shouldn’t let him make you one,’ Brienne said. The world around her was becoming a little blurred. Daenerys face was swimming in and out of focus. ‘He took your father’s life; don’t let him take yours too.’ Her words were slurred. 

‘I didn’t want to hurt you,’ Daenerys said. She was staring at Brienne, tears gathering along her bottom lashes. She was a girl who was hurting, and grieving her father. She was lost and confused, and Brienne felt her own heart tugging with pain. This revenge plan had gone too far. ‘I just wanted Jaime to suffer.’ 

‘Aye, well not tonight,’ said another gruff voice from behind Brienne. A shadow loomed over her. ‘The police are on their way.’ 

‘I can’t go to jail!’ Daenerys said. The Hound stepped into Brienne’s view. ‘I can’t.’ 

‘Did you think you were going to get away with murder?’ The Hound asked. He sounded amused. ‘Not in this day and age. There’s CCTV all over the shop.’ 

‘I don’t want to go to jail,’ said Daenerys and she looked so young and so innocent in the moonlight. Even with the bloody dagger still clutched in her hand. 

‘Then run,’ Brienne found herself saying. She could barely concentrate, on what she was saying, with the pain in her cheek. ‘Run now, and don’t come back, and stop your stupid revenge plan.’ It hurt to open her mouth, and she couldn’t believe what she was saying. She believed in justice more than anyone. Her moral compass was the one everyone else compared theirs too. 

But there was something so pure about Daenerys. She was a scared and frightened child. She needed time to heal, and she wasn’t going to get that in jail. 

Daenerys turned and ran, Khal and the gang following her. 

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ The Hound said, turning to Brienne. ‘You know she would have killed him if you hadn’t jumped in front of him?’ 

‘I forgot about you,’ Brienne said. Of course The Hound would be here. He was Jaime’s bodyguard after all. ‘You’re a pretty shitty bodyguard.’ 

‘We need to get you to a hospital,’ The Hound said, and Brienne nodded, before the world turned black, and she fell, a pair of strong arms catching her. 

* 

Fifteen stitches. Her cheek had been torn open by the dagger, and the doctors weren’t entirely sure that it wouldn’t scar. 

Brienne felt like she should care a little more. Her face was now scarred. One thing she’d always had going for her was smooth skin, but that was ruined. Instead she felt an odd kind of detachment. Why wouldn’t she have a permanent scar to remember this whole part of her life by? 

It would match the scar she was pretty sure would be carved on her heart. 

‘The doctors said you’re checking yourself out.’ The Hound had appeared at the curtain around her bed, his dirty black clothes startling against the shiny whiteness of the hospital. 

‘I’ve been here for four hours,’ Brienne answered. She was restless. And she wanted to get out of this dirt and blood-stained dress. She wanted to go back to her house. Not the house, her house. She wanted to sleep in her own bed, and wake up to her own photos on the wall and call her father and hear his voice. 

She wanted this to be over, but that was out of the question. At least for now. ‘They’ve stitched my face up. They’ve given me all the painkillers. There’s not much more they can do.’ 

‘They want you to stay for at least 24 hours,’ The Hound said. ‘Jaime's probably staying longer than that. They said he’s got two cracked ribs, and they’re worried about internal bleeding. That’s what private insurance will get you.’ 

‘I’m glad he’s okay,’ Brienne said. ‘It’s good that they’re keeping an eye on him.’ 

‘They should be keeping an eye on you,’ The Hound said, coming into the little space Brienne had had for the past four hours. She didn’t recall arriving here, or being checked out. She’d only come round once they’d been stitching up her cheek, even though they’d numbed it. ‘You got beat up pretty bad.’ 

‘I’ve had worse,’ Brienne said, and she tried to flash a smile, but quickly gave up on the idea when pain shot through her entire jaw. ‘They’ve checked me for everything. I’m good to go.’ They'd cleaned up her feet and given her soft slippers to wear. Applied cream and antiseptic to the cuts on her arms, and had x-rayed her stomach for anything going on in her insides. She'd been given the all clear. 

‘You jumped in front of a dagger for Jaime,’ The Hound said. ‘Do you want to talk about that.’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said. ‘I do not.’ 

There was only one reason she could think of for her actions. One word, one emotion that screamed out at her, that she couldn’t block out, no matter how hard she tried. 

‘He wants to see you,’ The Hound said. ‘He’s been asking for a while. Constantly trying to find out if you’d woken up, and what was happening to you.’ 

‘You can tell him I’m fine,’ Brienne said. She’d thought about seeing Jaime. He was only in a room a little way down the hall. She could go in, and talk to him. Get everything out in the open. 

It would be too hard. She’d let this go on for long enough. Kept going back to The Bear Pit. Kept going back to Jaime. 

Because she loved him. 

It was stupid. People didn’t fall in love in four weeks. And Brienne wasn’t the type of person who would even let herself fall in love with a taken man. This show had messed with her head, and it had to stop. 

She needed to put the plan she’d thought of into place. 

‘He won’t accept that,’ The Hound said. ‘You look like shit. You shouldn’t be going home.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Brienne said. ‘I’ll take care of myself. Sansa and Margaery will be there.’ She avoided looking at herself in the mirror on the wall opposite. There was no bruising on her face yet, just on her arms and stomach. Her face was just a dark gash, with crusted blood and white gauze. 

Petyr would go mad when he saw it. She wouldn’t be allowed to put make-up over it, so they’d have to get creative with camera angles. Thank Gods they’d already filmed the interviews. 

‘There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’ The Hound asked. 

‘No,’ she said. ‘I need clean clothes, and a proper bed.’ She needed not to be tempted to go to Jaime. She wasn’t sure she‘d be able to hide her feelings. ‘Tell Jaime I’m glad he’s okay.’ 

‘He yelled at me for not telling him about being his bodyguard,’ The Hound said. ‘And Tyrion practically had a heart attack when I called him and told him what happened.’ 

‘Does Petyr know?’ Brienne asked. 

‘Tyrion called him,’ The Hound said. ‘He said he’s going to get Sam to tell the other contestants.’ 

‘Right,’ Brienne said. That would be a great scene to walk into. ‘Has Cersei called to check on Jaime?’ 

‘His phone was ringing as I left,’ he said. ‘I didn’t stay around to hear who it was. You should talk to him.’ 

‘Do you know what they’re going to tell the press?’ Brienne asked. She’d been in a little bubble here for the past four hours. She had no phone, and apart from a half hour interview with the police – where she’d left out that she’d told Daenerys to run –, she’d had no contact with anyone but the doctors and nurses. 

‘As far as I know, Petry’s going to tell them Jaime was attacked in a local car park. He’s drafting a statement right now, about Jaime getting a half an hour escape each evening to make sure he doesn’t go stir crazy. I think they’re going to say it was a random mugging.’ 

‘I guess not bothering to check that a contestant is the daughter of the guy the suitor killed is a pretty big background check to miss,’ Brienne said. They both turned at the sound of a nurse who came around the curtain, smiling. 

‘Your car is here to take you back,’ she said. ‘You’ve signed what you need to?’ Brienne nodded. She could feel a headache taking place, although it was being kept at bay by the vast number of painkillers she was on. ‘If you feel any twinges, or get dizzy or have any of the symptoms the doctors have told you about...’ 

‘I’ll come back,’ Brienne agreed. She’d already told two doctors and three other nurses this. ‘Thank you.’ She tried to smile at the nurse, then winced. 

‘I’ll see you around,’ she said to The Hound. She had nothing to take with her. 

‘Jaime will be sad if you don’t say goodbye,’ he said. 

‘He’ll get over it,’ she said. She swallowed, tried for a half smile that still hurt half her face, and made her way to her waiting car. 

* 

‘Brienne, what happened?’ As soon as she opened the door, Sansa and Margaery were in her face. ‘Oh my gods, your face!’ Sansa put her hands up to her mouth, then grabbed Brienne’s arm and pulled her down onto the sofa. ‘Tell us what happened. Sam only had the basic facts – you and Jaime got into a fight?’ 

‘It’s a long story,’ Brienne said. She wanted to go to sleep, but she knew she had to do this first. This, and something else. ‘Where’s Cersei?’ 

‘She’s been in her room ever since Sam left. Probably on the phone to Jaime, to check he’s okay,’ Margaery said. ‘We realised you hadn’t stayed at the film, and an assistant told us she’d told you where the cars were. We’d figured you’d come back here, but when you weren’t, we thought you might have gone to meet Jaime.’ Sansa frowned, but Margaery moved on. ‘We were all tired, so we went straight to bed. About an hour ago, the doorbell rang. We knew it had to be something bad. Sam told us that Daenerys confronted Jaime in a car park, and that you’d been involved. Both of you were in hospital, getting checked out but would be okay, although we probably wouldn’t see you till tomorrow. He said Petyr was drafting a statement to the press, but that you nor Daenerys would be mentioned as that would require a lot of explaining?’ 

Brienne didn’t even want to know what Petyr knew about her evenings with Jaime. Maybe he’d known all along. Maybe he still didn’t know. It was hard to keep track of who knew what, and what was fake and just for the show. She didn’t know what had aired, or been edited. She was struggling to recall what had happened and what hadn’t. 

She was desperate to go back to the hospital and see for herself that Jaime was okay. The fight felt like a blur, and she hadn’t seen him since. She didn’t know what his face looked like after the beating. 

‘How long have you been meeting Jaime?’ Sansa asked, quietly. ‘I know it’s not the most important thing right now, but I’d like to know.’ 

‘A few weeks,’ Brienne said. ‘The first time was an accident, but I kept going back. He’s how I knew it was all a fix.’ She braced herself for the rage that was coming. The betrayed look on Sansa’s face. 

‘My mother told me you were falling for him, at the party,’ Sansa said, a wry smile crossing her face. ‘I refused to believe her, but she told me to keep an eye on you. I didn’t because Theon came back into my life, so I dropped the ball a bit. I should have seen it sooner.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Brienne said, hanging her head. This was all so messed up. So tangled and complicated. 

‘Don’t be sorry,’ Sansa said. ‘Would I rather you fell for someone who hadn’t screwed my family over? Yes. But do I just want to see you happy? Also yes. If that means you being with Jaime Lannister,’ she shuddered, ‘so be it.' 

‘Except I won’t be with him, will I?’ Brienne asked, giving way to self-pity for one moment. ‘He’s with Cersei.’ 

‘We’ll see,’ Sansa said. 

They would see. They’d all see. 

‘Tell us about tonight,’ Margaery said. ‘What happened to your face? Are you sure you should be here? Shouldn’t you be around people who can look after you?’ 

Brienne lay her head back on the sofa, and recounted the evening for them. She told them about Daenerys and her father, and her thirst for revenge. She told them about jumping in front of the dagger when Daenerys brought it down, intent on Jaime’s chest. She pretended not to notice them exchanging looks, and they didn’t ask her any more questions. 

‘And I just wanted to come back here and get changed and go to sleep,’ she said, finally. Her voice was scratchy from talking, and her cheek throbbed with every word she spoke. She’d have to watch that for the next few days. 

‘Come on then,’ Margaery said, hopping up, and pulling Brienne with her. ‘We’ll help.’ 

They helped her up the stairs, and out of her ripped, dirty dress, Sansa only making a small noise of sadness as she held the ruined material in her hands. They helped her into soft pj’s, and tucked her up in bed, making sure she had plenty of water and painkillers by her side. They promised to come and check in on her throughout the day tomorrow, telling her they’d make sure Petyr left her alone all day. 

‘Thank you,’ she said, twenty minutes later. ‘I just need one more thing.’ 

‘Anything,’ Margaery promised. 

‘Could I borrow a phone? Just for a couple of minutes. I need to call...my father. He should know what happened.’ Margaery was already scrambling for the item in her bra, and she slipped the sleek model into Brienne’s hand. 

‘You can call as many people as you like. In fact, keep it with you tonight. Just in case you need to call for help. Sansa’s mobile is on it and she can come and get me.’ 

They both kissed her on the head, and left her in blessed silence. 

Brienne stared down at her pillow. She could lie down right now and go to sleep. Put this behind her that way. 

It wouldn’t be enough. 

She rang a number from memory, praying that it hadn’t changed in the last few years. She would call her father, after. Theirs would only be a short phone call anyway. 

‘Good morning, Podrick Payne speaking,’ said the voice that answered. He hadn’t changed his number. 

‘Hi, Pod. It’s Brienne,’ she said, clenching the top of the duvet in her hands. She’d chosen this, but she didn’t have to like it. 

‘Brienne!’ he breathed. ‘Thank the Gods. Are you okay? You’re not calling because you’ve fainted, or have thrown up or anything are you? The Hound text Tyrion and said you’d left, but if you need to go back we can have a car there within the next five minutes.’ 

‘Pod, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘My face hurts a little, but I gathered that’s to be expected if you get stabbed it in.’ 

‘Then how can I be of assistance?’ he asked, and she could tell he did this for a living. 

She looked at herself in the mirror facing her bed. Her mind was made-up. 

This was for the best. 

‘Pod,’ she said. ‘I need you to do me a favour.’


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you for the comments, I love them, and all of you for reading, and loving this fic. I'm still not sure how it's grown so huge, but thank you for sticking with it, or even just deciding to read a really really long fic!
> 
> Second, as some of you have noticed, I have a pretty regular update schedule, (every other Wednesday). Unfortunately, for the chapter that should be posted in two weeks time, I am away, and there is no way I will be able to post it then. I am going to try my hardest to get the next chapter up before I leave, but a) it's a Brienne chapter and those tend to run away from me and b) my hours at work have increased a lot. I know some of you wait around on the scheduled update days (which, honestly warms my heart, to know you're so excited for the next update), so I just wanted to let you know.
> 
> Enjoy

‘Well, let me know when they release you,’ Cersei said, on the other end of the phone. ‘I should be able to sneak out. Not that it’s really sneaking any more, since nobody cares. And Brienne’s been doing it for weeks. Apparently.’ There was a sharp edge to her voice, but it sounded like it was only there because she thought it should be. There was no real bite, no real heat. If Cersei had actually been angry there would have been silence. Brienne would have been insulted to the ends of the dictionary and back. 

Cersei hadn’t really mentioned Brienne. She’d called Jaime ten minutes ago, to check he was okay, and to ask for a more detailed explanation. Apparently, the three other women in the contest had had a minion sent to the house to wake them, and tell them that Brienne, Jaime and a previous contestant had been involved in an accident, and that Jaime and Brienne were at the hospital getting checked over. 

‘I’ll let you know,’ Jaime said. His gaze flickered to the door and then away again. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, except waiting for the door to open. 

He needed to see Brienne. He needed to speak to her, and check she was okay, and tell her everything. Apologize for what his past actions had caused and thank her for saving his life.  
He needed to check she was okay. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been lying in his arms, her cheek bleeding, eyes closed. She’d looked deathly pale, and even though The Hound had tried to reassure Jaime while they'd been here that Brienne was fine, and was down the hallway being stitched up, it wasn't enough to calm Jaime’s racing heart. He wouldn’t be okay until he saw her. 

‘I’m glad you’re okay Jaime,’ Cersei said, and a soft pang shot through Jaime. She’d sounded for a moment like the girl he’d fallen in love with. Before she got sharper and shinier and became the woman she was today. 

The dial tone sounded in Jaime’s ear, and he jabbed at the phone, throwing it to the end of his bed. He’d already spoken to Tyrion and his father, although both conversations had been brief. Tyrion had assured him he'd be at the hospital first thing tomorrow morning, but Jaime knew his brother had been called into damage control meetings with Petyr tonight. They needed to get on top of the story. 

With nothing better to do, and even the calm, quiet, white private hospital room spinning, Jaime put his head in his hands and thought about today. How badly it had spiraled out of control. How he’d ended up here. 

How he’d managed to drag Brienne into his mess of a life. 

He’d spent the last few nights at The Bear Pit, sipping on water – he didn’t want to risk drinking again -, and chatting to Davos. He knew it was unlikely that Brienne would come back. Her words to him had shown him that. She didn’t believe he had feelings for her...and even if she did, it didn’t make any difference. Because he was with Cersei, and he’d said nothing to show Brienne that was any less true. 

Jaime had spent the nights trying to come up with a plan. There was still a part of him struggling to let go of Cersei. They’d wanted each other for thirty years. Jaime had fought with his father and his brother because of her. He’d let friendships go because they hadn’t liked Cersei, or had insulted her. He’d given everything for her, and they were so close to reaching their goal. Getting their happy ever after. He couldn’t throw it all away. He couldn’t. 

But then he’d think about Brienne. About how she made him feel safe and wanted, and how he didn’t have to think about every tiny little thing he did around her. About how his heart fluttered when he saw her on TV, and how he couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

But they’d only spent a few nights together, in a dark bar, talking. He had no idea what Brienne was like outside of the cameras. What if he threw everything with Cersei away, just for him and Brienne to realise a couple of weeks later that they weren’t right for each other? 

What then? 

The thought of him and Brienne breaking up from this imagined relationship devastated him. 

He’d finally hit on a plan last night. It wasn’t a great one, and he knew he’d be a coward for taking it. But it was the only idea he had, and the only way he could calm himself down as he thought about the two women who were wrestling in his heart. 

He’d been alone in the hotel room all Wednesday. Gods knows where the others were, but him and Tyrion were still on shaky ground, and he’d probably poke his eyes out if he had to read what Bronn had been up to, so he hadn't texted him to find out. His father was back at the company, and according to a random Twitter account Jaime had found, from someone who worked for them, Tywin seemed to be avoiding everyone. Jaime couldn’t blame him, not after Saturday’s show had aired. 

Jaime had known that tonight would be his best bet to catch Brienne at The Bear Pit. She’d want an escape from the cameras, and the photographers shouting her name. She’d need somewhere peaceful. Somewhere calm. 

He hoped that she’d want him, even after their last encounter. Even just seeing Brienne calmed his nerves, and over the past few days he’d taken to scrolling her hashtag on Twitter, just to see more images or more tweets about her. Even the idea of her calmed him down, grounded him a little better. 

A rustle at the door had Jaime looking up, and he wanted to get out of the bed, to walk to greet her, but even sitting up straight proved that was out of his remit. For now. His ribs were injured, and there was some concern about internal bleeding, but Jaime hadn’t really been concentrating. At that point he wasn’t concerned for him. He was awake. He hadn’t fainted. 

The Hound entered through the door, then closed it behind him, pulling the armchair next to Jaime’s bed a little further away and settling himself into it. 

‘How is she?’ Jaime asked. He knew The Hound had gone to see Brienne. There was nowhere else for him to go in the hospital, and he knew he wasn’t the only one concerned about her. Even Tyrion had inquired after her when he’d heard she’d been involved, and he’d heard Pod in the background saying her name and wanting an answer too. 

‘She’s fine,’ The Hound said. He cleared his throat. ‘Fine enough that she thinks she’s well enough to go back to the house.’ 

‘She what?’ Jaime said, forgetting about his injures. If that stupid woman thought she didn’t need looking after any more, she was mistaken. He was going to go and see her right now. Who cared that the doctors had told him not to move around for the night? He’d drag this stupid bag attached to him all the way to her room if he had to. In fact, why hadn’t he thought about this before? He didn’t need to wait for her to come and see him. He could go to her. ‘She’s ridiculous. I’ll go and talk to her right now...’ 

‘Get back in bed,’ The Hound growled, and Jaime stopped. He still remembered the other guy’s face, eyes blazing as he came storming into their little group earlier, his hair flying around his face. Anger had radiated off him. ‘You’re too late. She checked herself out a while ago. She’s probably already back at the house by now.’ 

Jaime stared, as his heart plummeted. She was gone. She wasn’t going to see him. Wasn’t going to check on him. 

‘What do you mean she’s gone? She’s been stabbed in the face. She can’t just leave. What if something happens? You need to go and get her and bring her here right this instant. How could you just let her walk out?’ An anger was burning through him. How could she do this? She needed to look after herself. If anything happened to her... 

‘I didn’t encourage her,’ The Hound said. ‘But she’s not being held against her will. The doctors did all they could, they only wanted to keep her in so they could keep an eye on her. She wasn’t slurring her words, she could walk in a straight line. She was so dosed up on painkillers I doubt she’d feel a truck slamming into her.’ 

‘You should have made her stay,’ Jaime said. He would have made her. He didn’t care about holding her against her will. 

She’d stuck it out this long in the show, after all. She could handle a night a the hospital. 

‘We both know what happened last time I took Brienne on, and I didn’t really fancy a re-match,’ The Hound said. ‘Look, she was okay. I checked. And Sansa and Margaery are at the house. They’ll make sure nothing happens to her.’ 

Jaime raised an eyebrow. Sansa and Margaery were alright, but neither of them had any medical knowledge. In a crisis, they’d be flapping around, not knowing what to do. What if Brienne required urgent medical attention? 

‘If something happens to her,’ Jaime said through gritted teeth, ‘I’ll never forgive you.’ 

‘Sure,’ The Hound said. ‘You’ll never forgive me.’ 

And there was the problem. It wasn’t The Hound Jaime was angry at. He wasn’t even that angry at Brienne for leaving. He kind of understood. Being near him was hard. And she hadn’t left because she didn’t care about him. She hadn’t come to his room and sobbed at his bedside, like he’d wanted her to because...well. Because a) she was Brienne, and Jaime doubted she did sobbing, and b) because she’d feel bad. She wasn’t supposed to the one at his bedside. 

She wasn’t even supposed to have met him. 

‘You want to talk about your anger?’ The Hound asked. 

‘No,’ Jaime said, his good hand clutching the top of the duvet tightly. ‘No, I do not.’ He let his head drop onto the pillow behind him, but he knew sleep wasn’t coming for a while. There was too much swirling around his brain for him to get any peace. 

When his cab had drawn up outside The Bear Pit, he’d had one second of confusion before he was set upon. He’d wondered if there'd been a power cut along the street, when he saw the lights in the bar off, then noticed the single lamp post outside the car park was still alight. 

Then there had been fists. And yelling. Men he hadn’t seen were on him, and he’d turned, trying to fight his way back to the cab, but it had already pulled away from the curb and was leaving him. He’d done as much as he could, not really understanding. Had they noticed he was Jaime Lannister and thought he’d be carrying enough cash to set them up for life? Then he registered the long hair. And the language they were yelling in, a language he hadn’t heard for years. 

They were here for Aerys. He’d been so stupid not to realize his gang had been planning something. Probably for the four years since Jaime had taken Aerys’s life. When it had first happened, Jaime had been nervous every time he stepped out of his house, expecting one of the men to attack him. He’d known that a few of the men who'd helped set previous fires had been caught. 

But never all of them. And this show, and everything that had happened, had consumed Jaime so much, he’d forgotten about the outside world. Forgotten there were people out there who wanted him dead. Who didn’t think he was redeemable just because he smiled into a camera, and talked about his dead mother. 

For a heart stopping minute, when Jaime had seen Brienne running towards him, her dress flaring around her knees, her hair a halo in the single glow from the streetlight, he’d thought she’d been involved. That it was all an elaborate plot to get him on his own, and vulnerable. He knew he’d have no chance of defeating Brienne in a fight. 

Knew that he wouldn’t even try, even if everything had been a lie. 

Then she’d knocked the first guy to the floor, laying him out with one punch, and Jaime’s adrenaline had come back. He wasn’t sure he could fight for himself anymore. But he could fight for her. 

Fighting with Brienne had been amazing. He wished he’d been able to cherish it a little more, the feel of her back, solid against his, her yells and grunts in his ears, hearing the screams of pain as she took the men down again and again, never tiring, never giving up. But it was hard to concentrate when you had men attacking every part of you they could, and all you wanted to do was protect the woman behind you, even though you knew she was your best chance of escape. 

The shout of ‘enough’ had been like a shot, fired into the night sky. Enough to shock everyone, and to stop them. Brienne was pulled behind him again, and he couldn’t check to see if she was okay, because Daenerys was walking towards them, a dagger in her hand. 

Jaime thought he’d felt fear before. Being asked to set a place on fire with a hundred innocent people inside and knowing what would happen when he refused. The spike of it that coursed through him when he felt his wrist snap that night, and the horror he experienced when he woke up without a hand. 

But nothing compared to seeing that dagger, clutched in Daenerys’s pale hand. He knew it was coming for him. And that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Her purple eyes had met his, and he suddenly understood. She was the one who wanted revenge. For her father. 

He hadn’t tried to talk her out of it. If the only thing that would make her feel better was taking his life, then maybe he deserved to die. She’d been right; why did he get to play God? Because it was the only thing he could think of in that moment. He should have gone to jail. He knew that. But with Arthur and the police on his side, plus his father’s money and lawyers, he’d been let off. He knew that, too. This was what his life had been leading up to; being stabbed in a dark car park. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He could almost picture the dagger slicing into his chest, his blood spilling onto his shirt and the pavement. He knew the last thing he would see would be the violet eyes of Aerys staring into his soul, alight with joy. Aerys had won. Even being dead hadn’t stopped him. 

And then there was a blur in front of him, and instead of looking into a violet gaze, Jaime could only see a mop of blonde hair, and dark sticky blood on the pale cheek. He’d thought he’d imagined it for a moment; Brienne had pulled herself up, and was blocking his view. But there was a dark puddle on the ground below them, and he could see the red droplets running down her dress. 

He’d said her name. ‘Brienne.’ Said it, because he didn’t know what else to say. There wasn’t anything else to say. She was there. She had saved him. She was telling Daenerys not to let Jaime make her into a murderer, and then The Hound appeared, and Brienne was telling Daenerys to run, and Jaime couldn’t say anything because she was right, Daenerys didn’t deserve to go to jail, except she did because she’d stabbed Brienne, and then all he knew was the ache in his arms as he caught Brienne as she collapsed to the floor. 

He hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else after that. Not The Hound telling him about the services that were coming. Not the two men out cold on the ground just behind them. All he thought about, all he could keep in his vision was the slow but steady beating pulse in Brienne’s neck. If he looked away, and it stopped...it felt like he stopped breathing, only starting again when he saw another flutter. If she died because of him...she’d jumped in front of a dagger for him. 

Jaime had never thought himself worthy of greatness, but somehow Brienne Tarth had come into his life, and had seen something inside him. She was greatness. And maybe, probably, he didn’t deserve her. 

But he couldn’t let her go. 

* 

Jaime had had his interview with the police a few hours after he’d been admitted to hospital. He’d told them everything he could about the night, leaving out the part where Brienne had told Daenerys to run. He would always be angry at what she’d done to Brienne, and if she got caught, he wasn't going to feel sorry for her. 

But she deserved a chance to escape. 

He’d asked for a copy of the interview, and had had them send it to Petyr. He didn’t much fancy going though over all the details again, and Petyr could do whatever he wanted to with the information. It was his show after all that would be written about. 

Which was why on Thursday morning, Jaime wasn’t surprised to see the headlines littered with his name, as Tyrion entered his room with a selection of newspapers tucked under arm. Both Petyr and Tyrion had text him last night to say they were going to feed the press a false story about a mugging gone wrong. There would be no mention of Brienne or Daenerys. 

‘You look like shit,’ Tyrion said as he settled into the chair by Jaime’s bed. He wasn’t sure when The Hound had left his bedside, but the other man hadn’t been there this morning. 

‘As do you,’ Jaime said. ‘I, at least, have a good excuse. What happened to you?’ Tyrion’s eyes were red rimmed and there were purple bags underneath. His clothes were crumpled, and although Tyrion had never been vain, his hair was more unkempt than usual. 

‘I’ve never dealt with my feelings in a healthy way,’ Tyrion said. 'It wouldn't take a good therapist to tell anybody that.' He cut his gaze to their father who was standing by the window, and gazing out at the car park below. Tyrion winced. ‘To tell the truth I’ve been drinking since Saturday evening. I think Pod had to come and drag me out of a bar at one point.’ He squinted, but obviously couldn’t find the memory he was looking for as he shook his head. ‘What with our falling out and then choosing Daenerys over Sansa, I’ve been quite down.’ Jaime turned his head to look at his brother at the mention of Daenerys. 

‘I was told she asked you to vote her off,’ Jaime said. He hadn’t been that drunk on Saturday evening that he didn’t remember what Brienne had told him, and he’d sobered up pretty quickly after watching her drive away. 

‘Practically begged me. She was crying and everything. Saying how she couldn’t deal with it anymore, and she put on a great face but it was all too much and she just wanted to leave. I felt sorry for her,’ Tyrion spat the words out. ‘I’ve always thought of myself as a good judge of character, but she fooled me.’ There was disgust in his words. 

‘She fooled everyone,’ Jaime said. ‘Nobody suspected her. She played a good game.’ 

‘They haven’t found her,’ Tyrion said, and he started to lay the papers out on the bed covers. ‘The police came to the hotel this morning. They wanted to talk to all of us about anything suspicious we might have noticed. I left them with The Hound, who's giving his side of the story. It’s all a bit messy isn’t it?’ 

Jaime snorted. ‘You can say that again.’ He scanned the headlines but they were all along the same lines – LANNISTER MUGGED, OH, NO, JAMIE, NOT THE ONE. He ran his eyes along the top of the article he could see, but it seemed Petyr had done his job well; the press had lapped the fake story up. ‘Where are Bronn and Pod?’ 

Tyrion hesitated, before picking up the paper nearest to him, and pretending to read. ‘The police spoke to them this morning too, and then they decided to go and check on Brienne.’ 

Jaime sat up at that, ignoring the surge of jealousy that shot through him (as well as the protesting pain in his ribs). They were allowed to check on her. To make sure she was okay. 

‘How is the girl?’ Tywin said, turning from the window to look at his sons. ‘From my understanding she was injured more than you. Why isn’t she still here?’ 

‘She left,’ Jaime said. His father showing concern for someone other than himself was a turn up for the books. ‘Last night. She took a dagger to the face, but other than that, I’m led to believe that her other injures were minor, just cuts and bruises. She, at least can walk around freely.’ He’d attempted to walk to the toilet this morning. It had taken him twenty minutes, as he shuffled hunchbacked to the private bathroom attached to his room, holding onto his rib cage, and the drip still in him the whole way. ‘Don’t tell me you wanted to go for round two?’ Jaime said. He made the mistake of meeting Tyrion’s eye, but they both had to look away sharpish, least their laughter bubble to the surface. The memory of their father having the rug pulled out from under him in such spectacular fashion would never get old. 

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Tywin said. ‘I wanted to check she was alright. And to thank her.’ 

‘Thank her?’ Tyrion asked. ‘For what?’ 

‘She saved your brother’s life,’ Tywin said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Of course I need to thank her.’ He took his mobile from his pocket, then sighed and put it back. ‘I need to be off soon. Meetings don’t stop just because your son gets attacked.’ 

‘You came to thank Brienne for saving my life?’ Jaime asked. ‘I thought you hated her.’ 

‘I came to check that both of you were alright,’ Tywin said. ‘And I don’t hate Brienne Tarth. If anything, I quite admire her. Not only does it show a great deal of bravery to stand up to me – stupidity too, if you have nothing to back it up with - but she took a knife for my son.’ He paused. ‘If I wasn’t so sure she’d laugh in my face, I’d offer her a job at the company. We could use more people like her.’ 

‘You’ve never offered Cersei a job,’ Jaime said, before he could think about the words. Even now, Cersei was still on his mind. Didn’t that prove something to him? 

He didn’t know any more. Which was why his plan would work. Why it was the only one he could live with. 

‘Cersei would make a fine employee,’ Tywin said. ‘I’ve always thought so. But Robert would never have allowed her to work for me and be married to him.’ 

‘She hasn’t been with Robert for years,’ Jaime said. 

‘But then she was with you. Sort of. Call me crazy but my warning signals were flashing all over the place. Having you and her together and working together, would not have been a good decision. I’ve seen you two grow up, remember? I’ve heard the rows, the screaming matches. We have a reputation to uphold.’ Tywin frowned. ‘And I’m still not convinced she’s not just after what she can get. Her mother was after everything she could get, and no doubt she passed those lessons onto her daughter. I've never trusted her - to get close to the company, or to you. I wish you’d find someone else.’ 

Jaime remained silent. ‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ Tywin said to Jaime, as he crossed back over to the door. Jaime supposed he should be grateful. He hadn’t even expected his father to visit him. ‘And you should let Brienne know that a bouquet of flowers will be arriving at the house for her later. My assistant assures me they’re the best she could find. I know we can’t talk about what happened in public, so she’ll have to make do.’ He left the room. 

‘Well,’ Tyrion said. ‘I suppose we should just be happy he didn’t think Brienne jumped in front of you for a payoff.’ 

‘Like she’d need it,’ Jaime said. His ribs were starting to ache again, but he didn’t want to take his next dose of painkillers until he had to. The weeks after his accident were all blurred and hazy because of the painkillers, and he didn’t want this time to be like that. He wanted to remember what happened. 

‘So,’ Tyrion said, leaning back into his armchair and making himself comfortable. Jaime hadn’t realised before how little his brother tried to make himself while in their father’s presence. Now Tywin was gone, Tyrion was sitting up, legs crossed, face no longer hidden in the newspaper; he’d discarded it onto the floor instead. ‘Brienne.’ 

‘What about her?’ Jaime asked, although he knew what was coming. 

‘You didn’t mention she was the woman you’d been meeting during our last conversation,’ Tyrion said. ‘I assume she’s who you were talking about? Or else it’s a startling coincidence that you two just happened to be in the same place at the same time.’ 

‘Brienne is the woman,’ Jaime said. He felt like a weight was lifting off his chest – his secret was out. ‘She needed to escape the house, and I saw Oathkeeper in the car park of the bar. That’s how we met. And we’ve continued to go back to the bar a few nights a week ever since.’ 

‘You like her,’ Tyrion said, and it wasn’t a question. 

‘Yes,’ Jaime said, the word not sticking in his throat like he thought it would. He liked Brienne. Maybe even felt a little deeper about her, if he was being honest. 

He expected Tyrion to whoop with joy. To start talking about his plan to send Bronn on holiday again, and have Jaime hide out until Cersei had calmed down. 

‘It’s a shame,’ Tyrion said, sighing. ‘I always thought Brienne had good taste.’ He flashed a grin to show he was joking. 

‘That’s all you have to say on the matter?’ Jaime asked. 

Tyrion shrugged. ‘What else is there to say? You know my views. Having spent time with Brienne, I have to say that you and her would make a great couple. Not only do you have a great deal of shared interests, but she wouldn’t fly off the handle if you did happen to muck something up. She wouldn’t make you run around trying to prove your love to her, or give you the silent treatment until you said sorry for things you didn’t even know you’d done wrong. But you’re in love with Cersei. Nothing is going to change that, and as your brother I just have to accept it. I want you to be happy.’ 

‘Right,’ Jaime said. He cleared his throat. 

‘How is Cersei taking the news about you and Brienne meeting up?’ Tyrion asked, nodding to Jaime’s phone which was charging on the bedside table. ‘I take it she’s not too fond of it? From what I hear Cersei isn’t a fan of Brienne.’ He paused. ‘Not that Cersei is a fan of anyone, but the fact that you and Brienne seem to have all these things linking you puts her on Cersei’s list. And that was even before she knew you two were meeting up. I expect she’s furious.’ 

‘Actually,’ Jaime said, ‘she hasn’t really mentioned Brienne.’ Cersei’s deliberate avoidance was unsettling him. If it wasn’t that Brienne was so injured Jaime doubted she could leave her bedroom, he’d be worried about what Cersei would be planning. She’d already thrown herself down the stairs in the first week, and then tried to frame someone for it. Who knew what she’d decide was a fitting punishment for Brienne? He’d wondered about little else this morning, thinking of them both in the house, together. 

‘That does surprise me,’ Tyrion said. ‘Of course, knowing Cersei she probably thinks this is all a great game.’ He gave a great sigh. ‘She’ll probably dangle you in front of Brienne as soon as she’s able. As far as she’s concerned she’s won. Brienne is nothing. I suppose we should be grateful, although we’ll have to think of something to keep them apart.’ 

‘Sansa and Margaery won’t let Cersei do anything to Brienne,’ Jaime said. He felt a new wave of gratefulness for the other women. If Cersei tried any thing they’d be on her in seconds. He knew that his wild idea to hire a bodyguard to stand guard over Brienne wasn’t going to happen, so he’d have to make do with them. 

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. ‘And what’s the plan if they get voted out on Saturday and Brienne and Cersei are left alone in the house together?’ 

Shit. Jaime hadn’t thought of that. Maybe his bodyguard idea hadn’t been such a bad one after all. ‘I’m kidding,’ Tyrion said, although he still sounded a bit doubtful. ‘Petyr wouldn’t let anything happen to his contestants.’ He eyed Jaime’s drip, and the bruises on his face. ‘Well. Nothing he could prevent anyway. He’ll have them running around for the last week, doing content for the website. They won’t be alone.’ 

Except for night time, Jaime thought. Maybe he could persuade Cersei to spend a couple of nights with him. If that was what it took to protect Brienne, he’d get though those nights, pretending everything was fine between them. 

‘They’ll be fine,’ Jaime said, hoping the quiver of worry in his voice was hidden by the false bravado. They sat in silence for a while, Jaime’s mind trying to come up with other ways he could keep Cersei distracted. Maybe Tyrion was right – maybe she had no interest in Brienne. So she’d been meeting Jaime – it didn’t have to mean anything. Cersei had spent a lot of time with Brienne in the last few weeks – she knew Brienne wouldn’t try to jeopardize Cersei and Jaime’s relationship. She wasn’t that type of person. 

Probably as far as Cersei was concerned, Brienne wasn’t a threat. And you didn’t need to frighten off something you weren’t scared of. 

‘I could have lost you last night,’ Tyrion said into the quiet, sounding close to tears. 

Jaime was suddenly sure his brother’s eyes weren’t red just from drinking. ‘I don’t want us to fight about you and Cersei anymore. You and Cersei will be together forever. I’ll accept it.’ 

‘Right,’ Jaime said again, and he opened his mouth to tell his brother about his plan to have Bronn leave the phone lines alone on the final night. The public would choose who Jaime should be with. He’d literally leave it up to fate. 

‘Mr Lannister?’ said a young nurse, as the door opened, and she poked her head around. ‘The doctors just want to check you over. Is now a good time?’ 

‘I was just leaving anyway,’ Tyrion said, standing. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said to Jaime, before he slipped out into the hallway. 

Jaime nodded to the nurse, then lay down as the doctors made their way into his room. 

He’d tell Tyrion about it another time. 

* 

Friday afternoon when Jaime’s door opened, he sat up, almost without any pain. The drip had been removed from his side, and he was hoping that they’d let him back to the hotel at some point in the next 24 hours, even though the nurse he’d mentioned it to had pursed her lips and said ‘we’ll see.’ He knew his father had had a word with them about not letting him go until they were sure he was out of the danger zone. 

But if he thought staying in the hotel was boring, this was even worse. They’d helpfully wheeled an old TV into his room, but after catching three news stories about himself and the ‘mugging’ he’d turned it off. He’d scrolled though his phone so much that he had a tiny indent on his little finger from where he’d been holding it for hours, but his eyes had started to go blurry so he’d put it down. 

Cersei had called again. She’d offered to come and see him in the hospital, but Jaime had shut that down pretty quick. It wasn’t worth the risk of them getting caught. He already knew from a hushed conversation outside his door, that fans of the show had been caught trying to sneak into the hospital to see him, and he was aware of the press photographers outside in the car park waiting for him to be released. Petyr had already informed him he’d have to leave through the back entrance, into a waiting car. 

Not only that, but Jaime, having made his mind up, couldn’t spend time with Cersei, while pretending their happy ever after was still his plan. It would be too hard. 

Cersei, to his relief had been quick to accept his hurried ‘no’, and hadn’t mentioned it again. 

‘Fucking hell, they got you good, didn’t they?’ said Bronn as he walked into Jaime's room, looking at Jaime’s face. He sucked his teeth, making Jaime wince, as he took the single armchair in the room, leaving Pod to shuffle in behind him, and close the door. ‘Didn’t you even attempt to fight back?’ 

‘It’s wonderful to see you too,’ said Jaime, but he grinned. He’d complain about these men till he’d run out of words, but the truth was, he’d missed them a little bit while he’d been in here. It was a startling thought to realise, but they weren’t just Tyrion’s friends any more. They were Jaime’s too. 

There was a burning question on his tongue, but he couldn’t blurt it out. Even if everyone knew everything about him and Brienne now anyway, he didn’t want to appear too eager. 

‘Sorry we’re late,’ Pod said, taking a perch on the small windowsill, and blocking out the thin rays of sun that were entering the room. ‘We would have been here earlier, but we had another pressing matter to attend to.’ 

‘Oh?’ said Jaime. He didn’t care about errands. 

He cared about Brienne. 

‘Yeah,’ Bronn said. ‘When we went to see Brienne yesterday, she asked if we could please go to The Bear Pit and speak to the barman. Davos, that’s it. She said he’d probably see all the press and she didn’t want to leave him in the dark.’ He gave a low whistle. ‘It’s a good job he’s such a nice man. The police taped his entire business off for 24 hours, and they interviewed him about everything that had gone on between you and Brienne over the past few weeks. He wasn’t bothered, though. Said he’s just glad the both of you are okay.’ 

‘He said he predicts he’ll get a lot more business in the coming evenings anyway,’ Pod added softly. His gaze was fixed to the front door, almost like he couldn’t wait to escape. He couldn't seem to look at Jaime.  
Jaime didn’t think his face looked that bad. The major bruises were starting to heal nicely. ‘Everyone will want to see the place where Jaime Lannister was mugged,’ Pod finished. 

‘It’s a bit of a shit story, isn’t it?’ Bronn asked. ‘If one of those reporters gets hold of the police records, it’s all going to come out about Brienne being there too. And how it wasn’t a random mugging, but an attack.’ They were mentioning her, but not actually speaking about her. Jaime didn’t think he could last much longer. 

‘Petyr won’t let that happen,’ Pod said. ‘Sansa told us he’s already paid a load of people off to make sure the records are sealed. I assume if any reporters do get hold of the story, they’ll be paid off too.’ 

Jaime opened his mouth to ask how Brienne was, but Bronn cut him off before he could get a word out. 

‘Before we left today, the police came to tell Tyrion that another couple of the guys from that night had been caught.’ Jaime nodded, although he wasn’t really interested. Those guys had never been the greatest thinkers. They were under Daenerys’s thumb, and had acted on her orders. They wouldn't come after him again. ‘Found them hiding out in a dive bar somewhere in Camden. No sign of Daenerys though.’ Jaime already knew they wouldn’t find her. She wasn’t dumb enough to stay around; he wouldn’t be surprised if she was already in another country with her husband. Brienne had given her that chance and Daenerys would be a fool if she hadn’t taken it. 

‘I’m not surprised,’ he said. 

‘Aren’t you bothered?’ Bronn asked. ‘If someone had been plotting my murder for years, and then tried to attack me, I’d want them behind bars.’ 

‘She had her reasons,’ Jaime said. ‘I can’t blame her for those.’ In the years since the incident, he hadn’t really thought much about the kids he’d left fatherless. Aerys had rarely talked about his children. 

‘You almost sound like you don’t want her to be found,’ Pod said. Jaime knew it would be hard for the boy to understand. For him, Daenerys had done a bad thing; not because she had no other option, in which case he might forgive her; but to get revenge. In Pod's view, she should be punished. 

Jaime shrugged. ‘I already took her father’s life,’ he said, remembering Brienne’s words. ‘I don’t think it’s fair if I take hers too.’ He knew it wasn’t really his choice; that if Daenerys was ever found he wouldn’t get a say in the matter of what happened to her. There was CCTV from the bar, and medical records to prove what she caused. 

He averted his eyes slightly as Pod continued to stare at him. He’d never forgive what Daenerys had done to Brienne, and for that she did deserve to go to jail. 

But if Brienne, even after being stabbed, could find it in her to let Daenerys go, he supposed he should too. 

‘How was Brienne?’ The words burst from Jaime. He wasn’t sure he could go on for much longer without knowing. ‘Tyrion said you went to see her yesterday.’ 

The two other men exchanged a look. 

‘Her face is bad,’ Bronn eventually offered. ‘All swollen and black and blue. The cut looks horrid, and she can barely talk. She must like you. To take that.’ 

‘If it’s that bad she should be around people who can help her,’ Jaime said. He wondered if it would be too much to ask The Hound to march into the house and bring her back here. 

‘Petyr got Talisa to come back to the house for a few days to look after her,’ Pod said. ‘She's the nurse, in case you don't remember. She was sitting in a chair by Brienne’s bed when we got there. It wasn’t a long visit, to be honest. Just to check...how she was.’ Him and Bronn exchanged another look. ‘We spent longer with Sansa and Margery than with Brienne.’ 

‘How are they?’ Jaime asked. He couldn’t imagine anyone involved with the show wasn’t a little shaken up by the events. 

‘Handling it well. Sansa is more upset about still being here than anything else. They’re both pretty concerned about Brienne. They wanted to come in with us, but Brienne wouldn’t let them.’ 

‘Why not?’ Jaime asked. Pod looked up, eyes wide. 

‘She said they haven’t left her alone since she got back on Thursday morning,’ Bronn said. He shifted a little on his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. ‘Apparently they gave her thirty minutes when she got back to call her dad, then decamped on her bedroom and spent the night on her floor. She hasn’t been able to get rid of them. They didn’t look half bad considering they’ve been sleeping on a floor.’ 

‘You didn’t make Brienne speak too much did you?’ Jaime asked. He remembered them saying that she’d been dosed up on painkillers after her fight with The Hound, when she'd given that speech on camera and her words had run away with her. Gods knows how many she’d be on now, for a stab wound that had left her face black and blue. What she might have said to them. 

‘Nah, she was her usual self,’ Bronn said. 'Stoic.' 

A silence settled into the room. Pod was staring at everything but Jaime, and even Bronn seemed a little unsettled, as he tapped his fingers under his chin. 

Jaime shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t. It was none of his business, and anyway he didn’t want to feel worse than he already did. 

‘Did she ask about me?’ Jaime asked, cursing himself. Why couldn’t he ever just listen to his own advice? 

‘She did,’ Bronn said cautiously. ‘It was the first thing she asked, actually. But we hadn’t seen you at that point, so we couldn’t tell her much, just what Tyrion had relayed to us over text.’ 

‘How are you?’ Pod asked, flushing a little. ‘We haven’t actually asked.’ 

‘I’m okay,’ Jaime said. ‘I’d be better if they’d let me out, but I don’t think it’s going to happen today. Let’s just hope that tomorrow I’m back at the hotel with all of you.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Bronn after a pause. ‘Won’t that be fun? Us all in the same room, watching the latest episode. Watching who makes it to the final two.’ 

Jaime felt a clutch of nerves in his stomach. He needed to speak to Bronn. 

‘Are you sure you’ll be ready to leave tomorrow?’ Pod asked. ‘I mean you still don’t look fully healed.’ 

‘If you had to stay in hospital until you were fully healed, they’d have less space and time than they do now,’ Jaime said. ‘If they don’t let me out, I’ll take a leaf out of Brienne’s book and discharge myself.’ 

‘Okay,’ said Pod, but he looked upset at the thought. 

Jaime leaned forward a little, indicating with a nod of his head that Bronn should do the same. 

‘I need to speak to you,’ Jaime told him, keeping his voice to a whisper. He didn’t want Pod to know about his plan. He knew the boy’s loyalties lay with Brienne, and he wasn’t sure Pod would agree with it. ‘In private.’ 

‘Aye,’ said Bronn. ‘Well let's see when you get out, and get tomorrow's show out of the way first. We'll speak on Sunday.’ He sat back, his gaze steady on Jaime's face. 

Sunday wasn’t good enough. The vote off was tomorrow night, and what if Brienne didn’t survive? 

Then he thought about the outpouring of love for her on social media. And he remembered how, even with just a glimpse, he'd seen how amazing she'd in the dress she'd worn Wednesday night for the film premiere. 

Brienne would be safe tomorrow. And then the public could have their say. Jaime would let them. 

He wondered where Bronn would go on holiday to escape Cersei’s wrath. Probably somewhere far, far away. 

* 

Jaime had been checked on by the nurse at 7am. She’d told him that he seemed alright, and she was sure the doctor would sign him off to go home as soon as he did his rounds. 

When Jaime inquired about the doctor at 4pm, having not seen nor heard him all day, he was told that he’d been caught up in an emergency situation, but that he’d come and sign off Jaime as soon as he could. 

It was now 7pm, and Jaime hadn’t heard about going home again. He didn’t want to bother anyone, not if there were actual people who needed help. He’d have to accept it; he wouldn’t be getting out of here today. Everyone had been expecting Jaime to get out today, so nobody had been in to see him. Tyrion had told him to text when he finally got set free, and his brother would come and collect him in a cab. 

Jaime text Tyrion to let him know he wouldn’t be out until tomorrow, then lay down on his bed, staring at the blank TV screen. It would be stupid to watch the show tonight. He could get caught. 

Except the ward he was on was deserted. All the other rooms were filled with private patients keen to keep to themselves, and apart from one nurse on desk duty the whole floor had been quiet for the past hour. On a Saturday evening it wasn’t surprising that all the action was happening elsewhere. 

He whiled away the next few hours on his phone, feeling a little better as he saw the excitement of everyone on Twitter waiting for the episode to air tonight. There was a lot of talk about his mugging too, but he skipped over the well wishes, and people who thought something seemed a little off, and the ones who were wondering what else was being kept from them if Jaime wasn’t actually spending all his time in the house. (Petyr had released a statement, telling the public that due to health reasons Jaime was allowed out of the house, supervised for just a few hours a week.) In TV show land things were covered up all the time. People would soon forget and move onto the next scandal. 

As 9pm crept closer he imagined all the men back at the hotel room, settling into watch. The snacks would be out again. All Jaime had was the remains of a crappy hospital dinner sitting on his bedside table. He had tried to sneak out of his room and go to the vending machine down the hallway to get something full of sugar, but another patient had seen him and knew him from the show. Jaime had gotten away after only a fifteen-minute conversation, but he knew it could have been much worse, and wasn’t worth risking again. 

He sent Cersei a ‘good luck, not that you need it, can’t wait to see your dress tonight,’ text just before the show started, unsurprised when he didn’t get a response back. He’d only sent it because he thought he should. 

He wished Brienne had a phone. Wished he could call and hear her voice. Check she was okay. He wondered how they’d do the show tonight without showing her face. He knew it would be a little different; instead of showing the cloaks being placed on the women tonight, they’d show the two finalist’s interviews instead. 

But the cloaking would still be filmed and go on the website. There would have to be some clever camera angles. 

Jaime turned the TV on, turning to the correct channel, and turning it down just in case anybody did happen to walk past his door. 

The One credits rolled across the screen, but instead of the usual teasing clues of what was to come the background stayed black. When the camera switched on, it was to Varys and Tyrion sitting in a small hotel room, facing each other. Both of them looked grave. 

‘As you may have heard,’ Varys said, addressing the audience, ‘this week a serious incident occurred. The suitor, Jaime Lannister was injured. As this is a six-week show, for health reasons we allow Jaime out for an hour twice a week. The suitor is monitored at all times to ensure he does not ruin the process of this show. It was one such evening, when he got out of the car to stretch his legs in a deserted car park, when he was mugged.’ Varys paused, as though waiting for the audiences shocked gasps. ‘I’m sure most of you are already aware, as the news was leaked to the press earlier in the week. I know you will all be concerned about his well being. While we thought it was best to let Jaime rest for the next few days, we have the next best thing – Tyrion.’ Varys turned to the smaller man. ‘Can you give us an update on Jaime?’ 

‘It’s what I’m here for,’ Tyrion said. Jaime was relieved to see his brother looking a little fresher than he had when he’d come to the hospital. He wanted to believe it was because his brother had gotten a good night’s sleep, some water and proper food into his system. 

Unfortunately, he knew it was probably just that the make-up team could work miracles. ‘Jaime sustained a few injures in the mugging, for which he’s been kept in hospital for the past couple of days; nothing serious, just a few cracked ribs. We all want to ensure he gets the best treatment, so they’ve been keeping a close eyes on him. I’d just like to take a moment to thank all the staff at the hospital where he’s staying, although as of filming this, we’re not sure if he’s out yet, so I won’t say where.’ He smiled into the camera. ‘But they’ve done a brilliant job, and I know our father will be delighted to make a contribution to them.’ From the tiny twitch of his brother’s lips, Jaime knew Tyrion hadn’t cleared that with their father. 

‘But he’s okay?’ Varys asked. 

‘A little shaken up,’ Tyrion said, inclining his head. ‘But he’s been in worse scraps. He’s looking forward, now, to his wedding next week with a mysterious woman.’ 

‘Thank you for that,’ Varys said. ‘And, speaking of the mysterious woman Jaime Lannister will be marrying next week, it’s now time to see how the four remaining contestants got on with the final task.’ 

The screen changed, showing the four women in the den, and Jaime’s heart lurched as soon as Brienne appeared. He knew it was before the fight. That this was the morning after he’d kissed her. 

But still. It was good to see her. 

Sansa was lying across the sofa, staring moodily at the screen that would light up with Jaime’s face any moment. 

He’d forgotten he’d worn the blue shirt. Now he could see it nearer Brienne’s eyes, he could see it was too dark to actually match her eyes. He’d have to buy a shirt in a lighter shade once this contest was over. 

He wondered if Sapphire did a line of men’s clothes. He should check. 

He watched as he told the women that they would be attending a film premiere, but they were all so used to this by now that none of their expressions even flickered. 

Margaery dug Brienne in the ribs, and Jaime couldn’t help notice that the brown-haired woman kept shooting Brienne little glances throughout his video. 

He wondered what Brienne had told her friends about him. Margaery would see though any bullshit Brienne tried to throw her way, but she might have hidden her feelings for him so as not to upset Sansa. He couldn’t imagine a world in which the Stark girl would be okay with them together. 

He wouldn’t be able to wait till tomorrow. After this episode had ended, he was going to call Bronn and tell him his plan. Tell him to book whatever flight out of London he wanted, whatever hotel he wanted, for however long he wanted. Tell him to disable all the equipment in the hotel, and delete all the computer programs. 

Next week it would be Brienne vs Cersei. The public would choose which one they thought was right for Jaime. 

If Brienne won, he’d deal with the Starks after the wedding. 

On screen Margaery was clapping her hands together, and bringing Cersei into the conversation, before Varys’s voice spoke, and the women seemed to turn towards it, even though he wasn’t in the room with them, and their TV screen had gone dark. 

‘Ladies, this premiere isn’t the only part of the task you’ll need to attend to this week; tomorrow you’ll be travelling to a small designer boutique. There, you will try on dresses, to find the perfect one for an exceptional night out.’ 

Margaery let out a squeal and Sansa sat up so fast, blood rushed to her cheeks. 

The first set of adverts came on, and Jaime leaned back on his pillows, closing his eyes. There had been another thought flying around his head since Wednesday. 

Since Brienne had dived in front of a dagger for him. He knew Brienne was good. 

But it had to mean something, didn’t it? Had to mean that she liked him a little. Enough that even when she was probably still angry at him for kissing her, that she’d risked her life for him. 

His feelings weren’t one sided. They couldn’t be. 

The show was back, and Jaime watched as the women entered a small shop in a crowded London street. He was surprised to see Renly, Margaery’s ex as the owner. Surprised that nobody had mentioned it. 

Surprised to see a blue handbag hanging off Brienne’s shoulder, which she was clinging onto tightly. 

There was five minutes of the women sorting through dresses, and plucking the ones they wanted to try off the rack. Jaime grew bored quickly; Brienne only featured for about forty seconds of that time. She appeared to stare at every dress she came across, her hands trailing over tiny details that Jaime never would have noticed had she not brought attention to them. 

The others just seemed to be catching a glance of one they liked and pulling them out. 

Cersei was the first to try on dresses and Jaime felt his eyes glaze over. Cersei always wore evening dresses. He’d seen her in every style and colour possible. These dresses, while lovely, weren’t that different from her normal style. She’d tried to choose ones that showed a little more skin than she usually displayed, and even a couple that seemed to glitter in the soft lights of the shop. 

The camera cut to Sansa, Margaery and Brienne all pulling adorable faces as Cersei emerged in the dress she had chosen. The show wasn’t actually going to show the dress she’d picked until the premiere, even though everyone had already seen the photos from the premiere in the press. 

Up next was Sansa, and she came out in a long black dress, twirling in front of the other girls. It would suit the style she’d been displaying through the past few weeks of the show. Sansa’s segment was a little shorter than Cersei’s, and when she found her dress Margaery clapped, and Brienne smiled. Cersei titled her head to the side, and proclaimed that Sansa looked like ‘a little bird. Innocent and pure.’ 

Margaery went third, and although there were a few dresses she came out in, looking perfectly fine, Jaime knew none of them had the wow factor she was looking for. 

He was finding it hard to care. Watching women try on dresses they weren’t even going to wear wasn’t holding his interest. 

He pulled up Twitter. 

#TheOne Gods, I hope Jaime is okay. Talk about a rough time 

#TheOne I can’t actually decide who I want to win! I keep changing my mind whenever one of them speaks! 

#TheOne Anyone else notice Jaime’s blue shirt...like I’m just saying the colour suits him. If only we knew someone else who looked great in blue. They’d make a great pair together.  
#TheOne Brienne is actually wearing a Sapphire!!!! It's all I've wanted since last week! Thank you Gods!! 

It was Brienne’s turn. She left the dressing room, looking uncomfortable in a pink dress, that made the other women pull faces and shake their heads as soon they saw her. 

Then Brienne came out in an amazing dress. It was long and black and clung to her body in a way Jaime suddenly wished he could. She turned, showing her broad back off for the first time, and Jaime thought he might have a new favourite part of her body. He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. The blackness of the dress showed off her pale skin to the max. She didn’t look uncomfortable in the dress, but rather impressed at how well it fit her. 

‘Oh my Gods, you look amazing,’ Sansa said off screen. It seemed Jaime wasn’t the only one who couldn’t take his eyes off Brienne – the camera hadn’t strayed away from her to catch the other’s women’s reaction this whole time. 

‘You should wear stuff like that more often,’ Margaery said. 

‘No,’ Brienne said, staring at herself in the three way mirror the women had been looking at themselves in. ‘This isn’t me.’ 

Jaime felt a stab of regret at her words, but he quickly got over it. If Brienne didn’t like the dress, she shouldn’t wear it. 

And anyway. She’d looked better in the other one. From what he remembered. ‘And anyway,’ Brienne said. ‘I have something even better.’ 

Thirty seconds later the camera was back on Sansa, Margaery and Cersei. All of them looked gobsmacked, and even Renly in the background had stopped what he was doing to stare at Brienne. 

Off screen, Brienne spoke again. 

‘This is the one.’ 

There were more adverts, and Jaime’s nerves were building in his stomach. Half an hour until he put the steps in place to potentially change his future. 

The show was back, a close up of a limo door. There were excited yells in the background, and lights flashing. A man appeared in the frame, sent a wink to the camera, and then opened the door, offering his arm to Cersei. 

She looked beautiful. Her green eyes glittered, and her smirk was fully intact. Her dress was red and gold and flowed to the floor and she posed for the photos like an expert, smiling over her shoulder. 

Sansa was next to be released, and she’d broken her all black clothes streak by wearing a white dress. Cersei had been right; she did look like a bird. The whiteness was a striking contrast to her red hair. 

She looked happy, and that made Jaime smile. If she got just one night out of this whole event where she didn’t hate his guts, he’d be happy with that. She deserved it after all. 

Margaery was next, in a blue silk dress, and if Jaime had thought Cersei worked the red carpet like a pro, it was nothing compared to Margaery Tyrell. She fluttered her eyelashes, and blew kisses to the camera. She posed with fans, and tilted her head to the side, quirking her mouth up at one side like she knew something nobody else did. 

The man was back at the car, opening the door for the final contestant. 

Brienne emerged onto the red carpet. 

And she looked like fire. 

* 

She was amazing. She stood tall and smiled like she didn’t have a care in the world. She didn’t try to hide her teeth, or slouch to make herself smaller. She let the dress float around her, creating the appearance of waves of flames. She was strong, and proud, and stunning and.... 

And he loved her. 

* 

He loved her, and it was hell not being with her. 

* 

Jaime’s interview was the next segment to air, but he was too dazed to concentrate on it. Varys was asking him what he was looking for in a wife, and what he’d hoped to gain by doing this show, and if he could create his perfect partner what would they be like? 

He’d stuck to generic answers. He wanted someone who he could build a life with. Someone who didn’t mind about his past. Who could fit into his family easily and wouldn’t be scared by his father. Someone with shared interests. He'd said he’d wanted people to know who he really was, and not just some story about him. 

He was in love with Brienne. 

He’d have to tell Cersei. He owed her that. A wave of panic rose in him at the thought; there would be tears. And yelling. Something would probably be thrown at him. He’d have to make sure that all the sharp, heavy and breakable objects were out of reach when he told her. 

But told her what? He wondered. 

He’d have to tell her he’d fallen in love with someone else. That he could no longer marry her. Their 'engagement' was off, and he was going to have Bronn fix the show, not that he really thought it would be needed. That Cersei had to know he hadn’t meant for it to happen; he hadn’t gone looking for it. He’d been perfectly okay to spend the rest of his life with Cersei. 

But maybe that was the problem. As much as he hated to admit it, Tyrion had been right. He’d wanted Cersei for so long, that finally getting to a place where they could be together with everyone knowing was the holy grail. He hadn’t really stopped to think about if he still wanted her. She’d helped to bring him out of a dark place. He’d wanted to be the person he was before he took another man’s life. 

That’s all it had been. 

He should be devastated. He should be bent double with pain as he thought about losing Cersei, as he imagined life without her. 

But he wasn’t. Because he knew he would be alright. He’d survived without her before...and the truth was, he’d realised that he didn’t want her any more. Not in the way he had when they’d been children, or teenagers, or even twenty year olds. 

Not in the way he wanted Brienne. 

With everything in him. 

‘And now,’ Varys said, appearing on screen, the dark garden behind him. There were four shadowy figures in a small semi-circle gathered in the background, their entire bodies hidden. ‘It’s time to find out who you’ve voted down to the final two. After the break, the last two contestant’s interviews will be shown. Have you done enough to save your favourite?’ 

Jaime had to tell Cersei. He’d never be allowed to discharge himself, not tonight, but he could insist on a doctor being here first thing in the morning to let him go. Money had some perks to it after all. He’d go straight to the hotel. He’d call Cersei round. Tell her what he’d figured out. He couldn’t leave it till next Saturday, and wait for Brienne to emerge the winner; Cersei would be humiliated and he didn’t want that. He still cared for her after all. Cared, deeply even. He probed his feelings a little more, finding a strand of love that he thought would probably never really fade away. But it didn’t feel as intense as it once did. It had softened over the years, and turned to something familiar. 

Yes, he still loved Cersei. 

But it was more like how he’d love a sister he wasn’t close to. A lot less than he loved Tyrion. 

He’d have to try and organise that bodyguard at the house after all. Maybe he could throw a fit, and say he didn’t feel safe with the both of them in the house, unsupervised, knowing that Daenerys had already come after him once. They could stay in another hotel for the last week. He was sure Petyr would agree to it if he kicked up enough of a fuss, and got him scared. Petyr didn’t really need another contestant injured. 

He’d have to tell Brienne too. He couldn’t really spring this on her. He’d get a message to her. Tyrion, or Pod could deliver it tomorrow, asking her to please come and meet him. They’d go back to The Bear Pit, and he’d tell her how he felt.... 

On screen, Cersei’s green eyes filled the camera. She was leaning back in a black armchair, across from Varys who was asking her questions. 

Jaime didn’t bother to listen to her answers. She’d probably lied anyway, trying to make herself sound more suited to the Jaime the public had watched over the past six weeks. 

A sense of giddiness was coming over Jaime. He felt light headed and excited in a way he hadn’t been for years. The stress of the past few weeks was lifting from his shoulders; he didn’t have to pick Cersei or Brienne. There was no contest; it was Brienne. Would always be Brienne from now on. 

In one week, he’d be marrying Brienne Tarth. And he couldn’t wai... 

The screen moved onto the final contestant’s interview. Jaime blinked. Blue eyes filled the screen. 

Wrong blue eyes. Blue eyes that were cold, and hard and distant. 

Jaime’s world froze as the camera pulled back to reveal Sansa Stark’s face. 

Something was wrong. There had been an error at the company. They’d just played the wrong tape, surely, this couldn’t be right, there had to be a mistake, there had to be... 

Sansa’s interview finished and the camera cut back to Varys in the garden. Standing behind him, in white cloaks were Cersei...and a murderous looking Sansa. 

In the background, stood two figures draped in black cloaks. 

‘There you have it, ladies and gentlemen,’ Varys said, blinking very rapidly into the camera. ‘We have our final two contestants; Cersei and Sansa. The vote is now open again, and won’t close until next week’s episode begins.’ The taller of the two figures at the back, moved slightly, their face briefly emerging out of the shadows and into the spotlight they stood over. 

Only half of Brienne’s face was on show. But she wasn’t shocked. Or angry. She was fine. 

‘And join us here next week, for the wedding of the year, where your votes will finally decide who will be crowned The One!’ Varys smiled into the camera, before the credits rolled, the phone numbers to vote rolling across the screen. 

Brienne Tarth was out of the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me, have faith :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I had this written and I felt bad that I'd made you wait so long, so I decided to post it now. 
> 
> Also, thank you 
> 
> a) for waiting so long for this chapter 
> 
> and 
> 
> b) for choosing to read and stick with a fanfiction, that with the entire wealth of game of thrones names to stumble over...spelled Jaime wrong. I should have gone back and fixed all previous versions now, but having re-read all my chapters my editing is crap so who knows 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and I'll see you all next time xx

Brienne was an idiot. 

Her mind was racing, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She had to stand here, with this heavy black cloak on. She had to make sure she stood here, completely still while Varys finished the show. 

She had to get rid of this buzzing thing that was near her. She shook her head slightly, then went straight back into her stiff position. She couldn’t look at Margaery on her right-hand side, also in a black cloak, even though Brienne could feel her friend’s gaze steady on her face. 

All the women had been told how this elimination would work. They knew that only two of their interviews would be shown on the show. That thirty seconds before the camera cut back to Varys’s closing speech, they’d be told who had and hadn’t got through to the final. 

They’d been made to stand in their semi-circle (which was more of a straight line now), and forced to wait for the ravens to drape their bodies with the colour appropriate cloaks. It was still going to be filmed for the website. 

Brienne had kept her gaze steady when she’d seen the darkness of hers. She’d taken a deep breath to steady her racing heartbeat. 

And then she’d heard Sansa’s 'what the fuck?’ and had looked around to the other women. Cersei and Sansa, both in white were being ushered forward to stand behind Varys. It had taken Ramsay coming out from behind his camera and threatening to forcefully restrain Sansa if she didn’t play along to make her stand there, and stop yelling and asking what the hell was going on. Even Margaery had protested, saying that there had to be some mistake. 

Brienne had stayed silent. 

Brienne was an idiot. 

‘Cut,’ Ramsay yelled, and the cameras turned off. Everyone relaxed. 

‘Well, I didn’t see that coming,’ Varys said from the front. Brienne tried to walk forward; she needed to speak to Sansa. She needed to tell her, she had to let her know that she hadn’t meant... 

‘And where do you think you’re going?’ a producer said, appearing in front of Brienne and blocking her way. ‘You know how this works. You need to get in the car, like a good little girl.’ 

‘I just need to,’ Brienne said, but the man was shaking his head. He was the tallest one of the producers, and Brienne hadn’t spoken to him much at all over the past five weeks. She’d heard he was a former boxing champion before he got into producing. 

He was obviously the one tasked with dealing with her tonight, and Brienne with her still injured cheek wasn’t dumb enough to test him. ‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing her by the arm. She was dragged along, and she would, she would turn around and punch him, but it was all such a mess and her head was spinning and Margaery was being ‘escorted’ to the car behind Brienne’s, and the doors were being opened. 

This was her last chance. 

Brienne turned her head, peering into the twilight darkened garden, finding Sansa standing miserable and alone in the middle. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Brienne called, but there was no time to say anything else – she was ‘guided’ into the car, and then the door was shut, and she was leaving the house, and Sansa, and Jaime, forever. 

‘Seatbelt on please,’ said the driver, and Brienne obeyed. The car was quiet and dark and cool, and it would have been a perfect place to sort her racing thoughts out. 

Except for the fucking camera blinking at her from the seat in front. 

She knew it would be here. They’d all been told that a camera would film them in the car on their way home. There was a pile of newspapers on the seat next to hers, and a tablet loaded with what the press had been saying during her time in the house. 

She needed to act. Just for a little bit longer, until she was back home. Half an hour, tops, maybe less if she gave enough of a performance the producer watching her was happy with. 

Brienne fixed her position in the back of the car, so her unscarred cheek was facing the camera, and reached for the first newspaper, pretending to read all about the scandal of her being the heir to Sapphire. She’d have to come up with a story about her cheek. There were more interviews scheduled this week, to talk about her time in the house, and she’d been told she still wasn’t going to be able to cover her cheek with make-up, probably for a couple of months. It was still too fresh, too raw. Perhaps the TV studios would come up with something, or get creative. But even then, that was relying on a lot of people to keep her secret, and these things always had a way of coming out. 

‘They really didn’t expect it, huh?’ she said, tossing the paper aside and reaching for another one. She gave a few more pointless soundbites for the camera as she made her way through all the material on the backseat of the car. She tried to force a smile when she got to an article that asked if she’d been the mysterious ‘knight’ who’d battled seven others off their bucking bronco at the medieval dinner, winking at the camera and saying that some things should be kept a secret. If people already thought that, she’d be asked about it again until she gave a firm answer. 

The lights on the front of the dashboard told Brienne it was edging near to 10.30. She’d been out for an hour now. Out of the show. Of the contest. 

Out of Jaime’s life. 

‘Are we nearly done?’ she asked, wanting to put those thoughts out of her mind. She couldn’t focus on them, not here, not in this car. Not with the camera right in front of her. 

‘Almost,’ said a crackly voice through a hidden microphone. ‘Just tell us what you’re feeling now you’re no longer in the running to be Mrs Jaime Lannister.’ 

‘This whole experience has been one of the best of my life,’ Brienne said. She wasn’t going to think about the words she said, or try to filter them; she wasn’t going to let anything slip, but she wanted this to be from her heart as much as it could be. The people who’d believed in her, who’d voted for her deserved that. ‘I’ve grown closer to people I never thought I would, and I’ve made some lifelong friends. It’s had its ups and downs, I won’t lie,’ she said, and there, that was a genuine smile on her face, even if it was small. ‘But I’m grateful. For everyone who voted for me to stay this long. For the outpouring of love I’ve just seen,’ she said, gesturing to the discarded papers on the floor of the car full of articles calling her a role model and rooting for her. ‘I’ve never really had love like this before,’ she said, and she had to stop now because it was getting harder to talk, ‘and I’m glad I got to experience it. From all different sides. I’m sad it’s over, but what can I say?’ She shrugged. ‘I guess me and Jaime just weren’t meant to be.’ 

Wasn’t that the truth. 

She should say more. Talk about how she’d like Cersei to win, and that she felt bad for Sansa still being there. 

But the car slowed to a stop, and though the windows were tinted, Brienne could feel the pull of the building on the other side. She was home. 

Finally. 

‘Good evening, Miss Tarth,’ the driver said. ‘Your suitcase will be arriving in a few days, and Mr Baelish has arranged delivery for your bike to be delivered back here then as well.’ 

‘Excellent,’ Brienne said, her hands grasping for the door handle. The driver reached into the passenger seat, handing over Brienne’s keys, wallet and phone. The items she’d left in a locker at the studio. ‘You’ll be needing these,’ he said. 

‘Thank you,’ she said, and it was silly but the sight of these everyday objects was making her well up even more. She wanted to stroke her purse, but stopped short as she caught sight of it. She hadn’t thought about her purse the entire time in the house. Not about the details. Her father had given it to her as a gift for some birthday or Christmas just two years ago. It was Sapphire blue, of course, but he’d had someone emboss a golden lion head onto the front. The lion had always been one of her favourite animals, and Selwyn had put it there to show that he thought Brienne was strong, and proud, and a leader of the pack. He’d never say those things to her of course; but this was how he showed her. 

A golden lion had been staring Brienne in the face every day for two years, and she hadn’t even realised. 

It seemed like she would never be free of Jaime Lannister. 

‘Everything okay?’ the driver asked. 

‘Yes,’ Brienne said, wiping away a tear, and opening the door. A chill swept into the car, and she pulled herself together. Five more minutes. ‘It’s silly but having my own things back...well.’ 

‘It‘s not silly at all,’ the driver said. ‘And, I’m probably not supposed to say this,’ he said, turning around so he could face Brienne. She already had one leg out, onto the pavement, but she paused, listening to him. ‘But I was rooting for you.’ 

Brienne wasn't sure she was going to last five minutes. 

‘Thank you,’ she said after a pause. ‘That’s a really nice thing to hear.’ He tipped his cap to her, and she left the car, closing the door and staring up at her building. 

There was no one around, thank gods. She could slip in quietly. Get her bearings. 

She walked through the foyer of her building, keeping her eyes averted just in case she passed anyone. With a flat in the middle of London, the residents were known for going out and arriving home at all different times of day and night. She still had the cloak on, so she might be hidden, but still. She didn’t have to want to speak to anyone else. 

Luckily she made it to her flat without crossing anyone else’s path. She opened her front door, then closed it. 

She walked into her living room, looking just as she’d left it six weeks ago. Tidy. Clean. Basic, since she hadn’t really lived here for two years, spending her time on her dad’s island. 

She took a seat on the grey sofa. 

She was an idiot. 

She never thought, when she’d told Bronn she’d pay him to make sure she was voted off tonight, that Sansa would be the one left standing opposite Cersei. 

* 

She should have realised, of course. Brienne prided herself on not being a fool. She’d worked out all of Jaime’s secrets hadn’t she? Everything he’d tried to keep hidden. She still remembered that feeling, sitting with Tyrion on the bench outside the pub, as she figured out the lies they were telling the public about The Hound and Pod. 

She remembered sitting in The Bear Pit, and the shocking slice of pain that had cut through her when she’d realised that The One was fixed for Cersei to win. 

But she’d figured it out. She’d made a vow to herself, after her ex-boyfriend, promising she’d never be a fool again. 

And yet, she’d done an idiotic thing tonight. A stupid thing that had left Sansa in the contest for another week. It was a small thing to be grateful for, that she wouldn’t win, but Sansa should be the one at home now. Greeting her family. Calling Theon with happy tears as they planned their first date. 

Brienne had thought it would be okay. She hadn’t really given it much thought, other than that she needed to leave, but if she had thought about it, she’d have assumed Margaery would be the other contestant staying. 

But Margaery had already told them, hadn’t she? She’d said it, the very night Brienne learned that Cersei was fixed to win this – Brienne could picture Margaery in the living room, telling their little group that she thought her Grandmother had ‘something like fixing the vote in mind.’ Olenna Tyrell wasn’t going to let her Granddaughter get to the bottom two. This way Margaery had a whole week of publicity to herself. She wouldn’t be overshadowed by the married couple. 

Brienne got up, pacing the floor. She didn’t want to sit still. She wanted to run from the thoughts screaming from inside her mind. 

She wanted to hide from the relief coursing through her. She was finally out. She wouldn’t have to put on a wedding dress she knew nobody would ever get to see her in. She wouldn’t have to fake a smile as she was driven home, while Jaime and Cersei lived out their happily ever after at the same time, to millions of viewers. 

She was out. No more cameras. No more Cersei. 

No more Jaime. 

The pain cut through her, but she ignored it, hating that she was feeling it in the first place. She’d planned this. 

She’d called Pod the night of the fight, hoping he could put her in contact with Bronn. The two of them had been in the same hotel room, all of them gathered to hear news of Jaime after the encounter with Daenerys. Brienne had asked Bronn if he could come and see her at the house; she told him she had a deal for him. 

She knew he’d understood. Bronn wasn’t a fool. He might be dirty, and disgusting, but he was quick. He understood. A little bit better than she’d like to be honest, she admitted, as she remembered his dark eyes on her face as she’d stuttered through her plan. He’d regarded her coolly, and she’d gazed back at him, fighting with her blush. She thought he would ask her why, make her lay all her hopeless feelings out on the table. 

Instead he’d asked how much. She’d blurted out the first number in her mind, and although his eyes had widened a little, all he’d done was nod, and tell her it would be done. He didn’t ask if she was sure. He silenced Pod’s protests with a look. Then he told her he usually liked to see half the money upfront, but he trusted her. His bank details were burning a hole in her back pocket. She needed to do that before she went to bed. 

She gathered her tablet from the drawer in her coffee table, got herself ready, then curled up in her bed, letting the glow of the tablet wash over her in the dark room. 

She liked being around her own things. Was glad that she’d paid Bronn a lot – and it was a lot, she knew, but she’d had to make sure he’d say yes and wouldn’t turn her down -, so she could be here. 

But there was a part of her, as she turned her tablet off, and turned on her side, closing her eyes and pretending to be back in her bed in the contestant house, that wasn’t ready to let go of some things yet. 

In the morning she’d face reality. Oathkeeper would be back, and she knew she’d have to fight herself every night, not to visit The Bear Pit. She’d done this. She needed it to be over. 

But she’d give herself one more night. Just tonight, to think about Jaime, one last time. 

* 

There was a knocking on her door. A loud, crashing thump that screamed danger or emergency, and Brienne didn’t think about it as she raced to answer whoever it was on the other side. Something had happened. Her father. Jaime. Sansa. 

Margaery. It was Margaery, standing on the other side of the door, looking like she’d been up for hours. She looked just like she had in the house, except instead of her dresses she was in a smart trouser suit, with her hair down in a low ponytail. 

Brienne had forgotten Margaery dressed like this during her day to day life. She’d said it was to make sure the men she dealt with took her as seriously as possible. The dresses were for the media only. 

‘I’d forgotten you dressed like that,’ Brienne said, standing back and letting Margaery slide past her into the house. 

‘It was hard to get back into the trousers,’ Margaery said sounding a little wistful. ‘But I have to make an even better impression on people now. The show has done wonders for the business, but people barely took me seriously as it was. Now they think I’m some fame chaser who just wants to make a name for herself in any way possible.’ She took a seat on the sofa, looking around the room appraisingly. She’d never been here before. They hadn’t been close enough. 

It warmed Brienne’s heart a little to see that their friendship hadn’t reverted back to its casualness now they were back in the real world. 

‘You’ll prove them wrong,’ Brienne said. She yawned, noticing that it was only 8.00am. Her cheek was throbbing, the pain killers having worn off during the night. ‘You always do.’ 

‘Anyway, I’m not here to talk about me,’ Margaery said, taking a bunch of papers out from the giant handbag she was carrying around with her. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up extra early and walked to the shops. It’s great, isn’t it? I know it’s only been a few weeks, and we weren’t in the middle of the jungle or anything, but I feel like I’m finally waking up from a dream. Just being able to walk around and not worry about cameras. Bliss.’ 

‘It is nice,’ Brienne agreed. She stared around at her basic living room, enjoying the grey carpet under her feet, and the black framed photos on the wall. These were her things. This was the life she’d built for herself. This was what her life would be like from now on. She had to focus on that. ‘What brings you here so early?’ She looked at the papers, afraid to see what they said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Reading a few lovely tweets about herself was all well and good, but it masked the nasty ones she knew were also out there. She wouldn’t be able to hide from the headlines in all their red top glory. 

‘I wanted to talk,’ Margaery said. ‘And Grandmother is insisting I go into the offices today to catch up on everything I’ve missed these past five weeks, so I needed to come here first.’ She plucked the top paper from the pile and spread it out on the coffee table in front of her. 

The headline screamed ‘The One; Fixed?’ and there was a picture of the final four women. Margaery and Brienne had big X’s scrawled over them. 

Brienne felt the first clutch of nerves. She’d assumed because Jaime hadn’t been caught that she wouldn’t be either. But what if someone had found out? What if Petyr’s company was investigated and he was fined for misleading viewers? He could lose his business. She didn’t much like the man, but she didn’t want him to lose everything. 

And she knew she’d like him much less without a job and with a score to settle. ‘Everyone on Twitter is calling it a fix,’ Margaery said. ‘But, then, they always do. If the person they like goes out, it’s a fix. Not because they didn’t vote as they thought their favourite would be safe, or because they watched it on catch-up and couldn’t vote.’ 

‘This paper seems to think so too,’ Brienne said. She was trying to think of all the people who would be in trouble if this came out. Petyr. Jaime. Bronn. Tyrion. Probably Pod by association. Brienne herself. 

‘This paper is trash,’ Margaery said. ‘The only reason I brought it was because I wanted to ask you; was it a fix?’ 

‘You know it is,’ Brienne said, keeping her voice steady. ‘You know Cersei is going to win.’ 

‘That’s not what I meant. Did you fix the vote so you didn’t have to be there next week?’ 

‘Did you?’ Brienne asked. She didn’t want Margaery to be mad at her for leaving Sansa in the house. She already felt bad enough about it. 

‘I believe Grandmother had someone alter my results, yes,’ Margaery said. ‘Although good luck getting her to admit it. That woman wouldn’t admit to anything unless she was on her death bed, and even then it would have to be something really big. You yelled to Sansa last night. Told her you were sorry.’ 

‘I am sorry,’ Brienne said. She signed. She’d never be able to keep this from Margaery. ‘Yes, I fixed it. I offered Bronn money to make sure I got voted out.’ She slumped down onto the floor. ‘Am I a bad person?’ 

‘I don’t think you’re capable of being a bad person,’ Margaery said, smiling a little. ‘I imagine that must have been a fun evening for Bronn. Ensuring that Cersei had the most votes, ensuring you had the least, and mine being fiddled around with. Hacker wars. How fun.’ 

There was silence for a minute. 

‘You wanted to leave that badly?’ Margaery finally asked. It was warm in the room, the early morning sun already making the air stifling, but Brienne felt cold. She'd hoped she’d have longer than a night to prepare for these questions. She knew she’d never be able to get away with it forever. 

But still. 12 hours would have been nice. 

‘I couldn’t...I couldn’t stay,’ Brienne said. ‘Jaime is with Cersei. Has always been with Cersei, and will always be with Cersei. I jumped in front of blade for him; that’s not right. I’m glad I did it, I’m glad he wasn’t hurt too badly, but I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I shouldn’t have wanted to jump in front of him. I shouldn’t care this much.’ 

‘I told you,’ Margaery said, ‘It’s okay for you to love him.’ 

‘This isn’t about me not being worthy,’ Brienne said. ‘He’s got a girlfriend. That’s why it’s not okay for me to...for me to love him.’ She signed, leaning her head back on the wall. Her hair was sticking up at the back. She needed to book a haircut now she was out. Short hair was great, but it did require a trim every few weeks or so. ‘I didn’t want to be standing there next Saturday, in a wedding dress, knowing Cersei was about to walk down the aisle and get her happy ever after. I couldn’t stand being in that house for another week, constantly wondering about Jaime and if he had feelings for me. I think he might have,’ Brienne said, cutting off whatever Margaery had been about to say. It had taken nights of deep-rooted self-exploring and bewildered questions about why Jaime Lannister would have feelings for her, but it was the only explanation she could come up with. Him and Cersei could be playing a sick game with each other. Jaime could just have been bored and looking for a distraction. 

But she didn’t believe it. Somewhere, deep inside, she believed Jaime had feelings for her. ‘But they just weren’t deep enough.’ She wasn’t even sure what she was saying. She didn’t want a guy who already had a girlfriend. She wasn’t a homewrecker. ‘I don’t want him to leave Cersei for me. It’s just a crappy situation and I didn’t want to be in it anymore. Have you heard from Sansa?’ Brienne asked, changing the subject. She’d made her choice. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It was too late to do anything about it now anyway. ‘I tried to text but she didn’t respond.’ 

‘No,’ Margaery said, peering at her phone. ‘I text her as well, but I’ve heard nothing back. She’s probably in shock, and she’s got a lot of people to talk to.’ 

‘I forgot what you told us about your Grandmother fixing it,’ Brienne said. ‘I didn’t want Sansa to be the one left.’ 

‘Sansa is tough,’ Margaery said, nodding, almost like she was trying to convince herself. ‘And she can’t win, anyway.’ 

‘So, these fix claims,’ Brienne said, nodding to the paper. This was getting way too heavy for a Sunday morning. 

‘Don’t worry about them,’ Margaery said. ‘Even if Petyr was investigated, Bronn and whoever my Grandmother paid are both smart enough not to leave any traces. They know what they’re doing. And this is a trashy magazine anyway. Nobody will take it seriously.’ 

‘Okay,’ Brienne said. She’d have to take Margaery at her words. ‘What did the other papers write about?’ There were two more face down on the floor, so all Brienne could see was the sport pages. 

‘Well,’ Margaery said, and she was full on grinning now. ‘One of them I’ve just picked up because there’s a very flattering article about our brands, so I thought you might like to read it. It’s in the style section,’ she said, tossing a huge newspaper to Brienne. ‘And the other one decided to go with a kiss and tell story.’ 

Brienne felt a fluttering of nerves in her stomach – Gods, if that ex-boyfriend of hers had sold his story, she would hunt him down and punch him – when the paper landed in front of her. 

‘My One Night Wonder with Podrick Payne,’ said the headline, next to a woman with her boobs thrust under her chin and posing in what Brienne assumed was supposed to be a sexy position. 

‘What is this?’ she asked, bringing the paper up to read more. 

‘It turns out that young Podrick Payne leaves quite an impression on the ladies,’ Margaery said. ‘Quite a big impression. This woman couldn’t stop praising him, and the paper has got a couple more women who’ve spent the night with him to tell all about their experiences. We’ve been overshadowed.’ 

‘By Pod?’ Brienne asked, scanning the article, and seeing words that made her stomach turn. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know all about Pod’s ‘sensuous love making’ or how it had been ‘the most thrilling experience’ of this woman’s life. ‘Who knew about his hidden depths.’ She placed the paper on the floor. That really was too much to read on an empty stomach. 

Margaery looked at her watch, then sighed. ‘I have to go meet my Grandmother, but I thought you’d like to be updated.’ 

‘It’s almost like you think I wouldn’t have gone and found this all out for myself,’ Brienne said. She tried a small smile, but it tugged at her cheek and she dropped it quickly. ‘Or like you just wanted an excuse to check up on me.’ 

‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily,’ Margaery said, standing. 

‘I wouldn’t want to,’ Brienne said. If there was one positive to come out of this whole thing, it was her new friendships. 

Brienne hugged her goodbye, then turned as her phone went off, hoping for a message from Sansa. 

It wasn’t. 

Petyr Baelish’s number flashed up onscreen with a text, telling her he would be swinging by later so they could talk about the story they were going to give the public. 

The warm little glow Brienne had experienced from Margaery’s visit vanished. This was just what she needed. 

* 

‘Miss Tarth,’ Petyr said, nodding to her as he entered her flat. His gaze flickered around the flat, trying to take as much detail in as he could. She could tell when he looked back at her, a slight smirk on his face that she hadn’t passed whatever test he’d conducted in his head. She knew she’d never made much of the flat. There were big windows pouring sunlight into each room, and the rooms themselves were bigger than average. She knew that somebody with even a little bit of interest in decorating could do wonders with this place. She knew people came here, expecting it to be stocked with the latest Sapphire products. 

‘Mr Baelish,’ Brienne said, stepping back and letting him into the flat. She led him into the kitchen, gesturing for him to sit at the breakfast bar. She could have let him have a seat on the sofa. 

But she didn’t want to. High barstools it was for him. If he could spend his days making women as uncomfortable as possible for the sake of entertainment, then she could do the same to him. ‘What brings you here?’ 

‘I told you we need to discuss your story now you’re out,’ he said. He was sitting straight up, like he was scared touching any surface in the place would infect him with a thousand germs. ‘If you were to be seen out in public with that cut on your face people would start asking questions. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we don’t need anybody asking questions.’ 

‘So what do you propose?’ Brienne asked. She fiddled around, making up a little tea tray, with teacups and a sugar cube pot. Her mother always said that tea trays were a great way to take up time with unwanted guests and it was a lesson Brienne had employed many times over the years. 

‘I’ve had my best people on this all night,’ Petyr said. ‘You can’t go on any of the TV shows, or do the magazine articles we had planned for you, not for a few weeks at least. So. Our only option is to have you hide out here for those weeks. We can’t risk you being seen.’ Just what she needed, to be trapped in another house for a few weeks. Even if this one belonged to her, she’d still feel stuck. And she wouldn’t have any escape this time. ‘We’ll have to tell the public something, of course, and we’ve come up with an idea I think is genius.’ Brienne fiddled around with her teapot, before looking into her fridge, not surprised when she came up empty. She hadn’t been here for weeks, of course there were no perishables left in the place. She’d cleaned it out before the contest had started. 

‘There’s no milk I’m afraid,’ she said, clattering the tray to the table and taking a seat opposite Petyr. ‘I haven’t had a chance to go shopping.’ She’d ordered breakfast in from a local brunch place. ‘And I doubt I’ll be able to.’ She’d have to do an online shop she supposed. 

‘We’re not saying don’t leave the house, although I’d wait a few days for the swelling to go down a bit more,’ Petyr said, peering at her cheek. The usually pale skin was still black and purple. Brienne looked like a Halloween costume, she knew. ‘Just be cautious.’ 

‘Tell me about this genius plan so I don’t have to do the interviews then,’ Brienne said, sipping her black tea. She winced. It wasn’t as good as the vanilla latte she’d been drinking every day for the past five weeks. 

‘I’m sure you’re aware that everyone wants a piece of you,’ Petyr said, although the look on his face betrayed he was wondering why. ‘The link to the Sapphire brand has really worked in your favour. We’ve had several offers from magazines asking for an exclusive interview with you.’ 

‘Okay,’ Brienne said. 

‘So, we’ve decided to take one of them up on it. The reason you won’t be doing any other interviews right now is because in a few weeks, when the contest is over, and the excitement over what will be the happy couple is blown over, your interview will finally hit the presses. It will tie in with the launch of a new Sapphire product.’ 

‘We don’t have a new product to launch,’ Brienne said, frowning. New products were planned months in advance. 

‘Well you will,’ Petyr said. ‘Your father seemed to be in agreement when we talked earlier.’ Brienne stayed silent. She wasn’t going to tell this man that she hadn’t spoken to her father since she’d left the house. Selwyn must have realised she’d have her phone back by now, and he hadn’t called her either. ‘It will give your cut time to heal, although with something like that, we’d ideally not let you be seen for a few months.’ He sighed. ‘We’ll have to come up with another story about how you acquired it, but we’re hoping to put enough time between your time in the contest and a fake story to not arouse any suspicion.’ 

‘And if I say no?’ Brienne asked. 

‘The contract you signed says you’ll provide at least one press interview of our choice,’ Petyr said. ‘This is the interview of our choice.’ She’d left the contest and she was still under Petyr’s thumb. She had no choice. 

‘Fine,’ she said. If her father was in agreement, she couldn’t really say anything anyway. Sapphire was still his company and if he wanted to launch a new product that was his choice, not hers. ‘Just tell me when you want me to do it and I’ll be there.’ 

‘Tell me when the cut doesn’t look so hideous and we’ll be in contact,’ he said, standing from his chair. He hadn’t even touched his tea. Another thing she had to do today; book a doctors’ appointment. The cut would need to be checked over, and the stitches would need to come out at some point. 

‘You know, Miss Tarth, everyone was surprised when you were voted off. They thought you would win,’ Petyr said as she walked him to the front door. 

‘That’s the British public for you,’ Brienne said, trying to force a smile. Her painkillers had kicked in now, but she could still feel her cheek twinging with the effort. 

‘Is it?’ Petyr asked. ‘Because if someone asked me, I’d say it was someone fiddling with the phone lines.’ Brienne felt like a rock had just slid into her stomach. He knew. 

But it didn’t mean he could prove anything. 

‘Nothing to do with me,’ she said. 

‘I don’t care who did it,’ Petyr said, ‘I’m just warning you. You remember the rule I told you was the most important on your first night?’ Brienne remained silent. ‘I told you not to get caught. That rule still stands.’ 

‘You’ll tell the magazine and TV interview that I won’t be attending tomorrow?’ Brienne asked. She knew Margaery wouldn’t be bothered about having to do them on her own. She’d pretend to be sad, and maybe she would be for a little while. But she’d soon get over it once she realised all of the attention would be on her, and the Tyrell perfumes. 

‘I will,’ Petyr said. ‘Goodbye Miss Tarth. I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but we both know I’d be lying.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Your father has designed a beautiful wedding dress for us. I suppose I should be grateful for that.’ 

‘Goodbye Mr Baelish,’ Brienne said, shutting the door on him with a satisfying click. Gods, she hoped she never had to look at his hateful face again. 

She went back to her living room, running through a mental list of everything she had to do in the next few days, then reached for her phone when it alerted her to a message coming through. 

It wasn’t from Sansa, but from her father. 'Meet me in the studio on Friday. Love Dad'. 

* 

Brienne had always loved her bed. It was big, the mattress was just firm enough, and the duvet was so big she could wrap herself up like a burrito on cold nights. She’d missed it more than she could say while she'd been in the show. 

And yet, she was finding it difficult to spend more than a couple of hours asleep. She knew it was because her mind was racing. Knew that she was still questioning her choice to get voted out, even though there was nothing that could be done about it now. She had wanted this. Did still want this. 

But still, part of her brain was constantly throwing ‘what if' questions at her. There was only so many of them she could listen to before her brain started looping over and over the same events from the past few weeks and she knew she had to distract her again or she’d go crazy. 

Which was why 2am found her standing in her kitchen trying to decide if hot chocolate powder could actually go off. (She didn’t think so, and anyway it was only a little out of date so she risked it. It wasn’t as nice with the hot water instead of milk but she'd make do. The shopping wasn’t coming till tomorrow). 

5am and she found herself having a bath and re-reading a book she'd been meaning to read for months. It was only a short novel, but it took her mind off her reality for a little while and she was grateful. 

And 9am found her sitting on her sofa, another ordered in breakfast in front of her watching as Margaery gave her first interview since being out. They'd already discussed Brienne and why she wouldn’t be appearing (and Margaery had come to her defense, when the interviewer had made a comment about how Brienne didn’t seem like the type of person who'd been waiting for the highest bidder to tell her story to, but money did funny things to people. Margaery had laughed and said that there was a lot that went on during the show that was out of the girls control, and this was one of them.) 

‘So, Margaery tell us what it’s like to be out!’ the male presenter said showing off all his teeth with a fake smile. He made Brienne ache for the simplicity of Varys – yes, both of them were snakes, but at least with Varys you knew what you getting into. And he was a little reserved himself. This fake buddy thing this guy was doing was already grating on Brienne’s nerves. 

‘Its only really been a day so far,’ Margaery said, laughing. She was back in another silk dress today, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. ‘And there’s an awful lot to catch up on so I don’t think I've had that much time to process everything that happened!’ 

Brienne, who hadn’t really thought much about this interview was suddenly grateful that she hadn’t been allowed to do it. Speaking into a camera and giving your thoughts was okay. Being asked questions on a segment that wasn’t going to air for a few days had been fine too, because Brienne knew they'd be able to edit out her little pauses where she'd had to think about her answer, or erase all her ‘umms' and ‘ahs'. Being interview live on television seemed daunting. She wouldn’t have had a clue what to do. 

Brienne sat and ate her breakfast, watching as Margaery answered the questions with ease. With no one else to share the attention, they dived into every aspect of her time on the show; what it had been like to walk in and find her brother with her ex-boyfriend and how she felt about that relationship now (it had been difficult, but nothing would ever come between the love she and her brother shared, and people couldn’t help who they fell in love with. It was a horrible situation handled a little badly, but they were getting back on track now, and Margaery was far too focused on her business plans to really think about anything else right now.) How her time in the house had been, and what she'd found was the best part about the whole show, (brilliant but that was because of the fantastic women she'd spent her time with; and for her, they'd been the best part of the whole show. She'd already met up with those she had bonded strongly with in the house, and was making plans to see more of them. She loved seeing how well they were all doing now, and was having a great time reading up on all the things they'd been doing since leaving the show.) They asked her about the Tyrell perfume, and when Queen would be available to buy in shops (Margaery wasn’t sure of an exact date but it would be before Christmas, and could already be pre-ordered online). She talked about how her Grandmother had felt about her doing the show, and the advice she'd been given both before and after, laughing at how her Grandmother had told her she needed to work on her posture a little. 

For a fifteen minute segment they crammed an awful lot in. Brienne could tell by the slightest tightening around Margaery’s eyes that even she was growing fed up. Brienne imagined she would be asked all these questions again this afternoon, for the magazine feature she'd be shooting. It seemed being a reality star meant putting up with an awful lot of crap. 

They finished the interview by asking Margaery who she wanted to win. 

‘Cersei, of course,’ she said. ‘I love Sansa with all my heart. I don’t want her to win a contest she doesn’t even want to be in.’ There was silence in the studio, and Brienne knew Twitter would be blowing up. That one comment would spawn a hundred click bait articles. Everyone would make it into a bigger deal than it was. 

Brienne picked up her phone, ignoring the twitter app (she wasn’t going to check. She didn’t want to know what people had said about her being voted off. Being out of the contest meant she was out of it, and she was going to put everything that meant behind her, as much as she could. She knew all of the other women had done some kind of social media post on their official accounts when they'd been voted off, thanking the public for voting for them and supporting them, but Brienne had barely used Twitter or Facebook before she'd been in the house. And she couldn’t post a photo of her face.) Instead, she called Sansa’s number, unsurprised when it went to voicemail. She knew the last remaining two contestants would be busy this week. That Petyr had scheduled them to do a number of things for the website. 

She also knew that Jaime would be doing the same thing. All 3 videos would be posted on the website so you could see which woman would work best alongside Jaime. 

Brienne chucked her phone aside, drumming her fingers on her leg. She had a lot of people to contact now she was back in the real world. She needed to find out how her time on the show had affected the business. She needed to.... 

She needed to get the door. She leaped from the sofa, hurrying to answer it, and wondering who it could possibly be. 

‘Brienne Tarth?’ Asked a young man. He looked her up and down, assessing if she was indeed the person he'd been asked to deliver to. ‘I've got a bunch of stuff to deliver to you. Sign here.’ He thrust a tablet under her face, and Brienne signed it. This must be her things from the house. Which meant... 

‘There’s a bike on the van,’ the guy said. ‘Do you have any place we can leave it?’ 

‘There’s a garage,’ Brienne said. ‘I'll just get the key.’ She popped back inside, grabbing the keys from a drawer, and heading back outside. Oathkeeper was back. 

‘And do you have any preference where we should leave all the other stuff?’ the guy asked. 

‘It’s just a suitcase isn’t it?’ Brienne asked, her mind still on Oathkeeper. It was her biggest link left to Jaime. She loved that bike with all her heart. 

But she wasn’t sure she could even bear to look at it. Not right now anyway. And who knew when she'd be able to ride it again? Oathkeeper deserved to be out in the world, not kept under a tarp in her garage.   
But she couldn’t get rid of it. 

‘Uh, no?’ the guy said. ‘There’s quite a bit more than a suitcase.’ 

‘Like what?’ This was all Brienne needed. Other peoples stuff that the other producers had just sent on without checking what actually belong to who. 

‘I've got a whole van of it downstairs. Flowers, fancy looking coffee machine. Five whole boxes filled with clothes.’ He peered down at his tablet . ‘According to a Mr Baelish, it's everything that’s been sent to you while you’ve been inside. Companies that want you to own their items. Flowers. Cards and letters that the fans have sent you.’ 

Brienne stared at him. He couldn’t be serious. But he wasn’t laughing. 

Before the show had started, all of the women had been offered an agent, for when they came out. Someone who would handle their press. 

Brienne had laughed at the offer. She thought she'd be sent home in the first week. What did she need with an agent? 

She knew she'd have to rethink that, as she stepped to the side to let two guys carrying a top of the range coffee machine box into her flat. She recognized the brand on the front of the box. This was the brand of coffee she'd drunk every day in the house. 

And they were sending her the same coffee machine? She blinked as the box passed her by, snatching a small card that was on the top. 

‘Dear Brienne. We love that you love our coffee so much, so we're sending you a free machine and 3 boxes of vanilla latte pods (your fans tell us it’s your favourite!) Whatever happens, know that you're our number one!’ There was a lot more, all about the company and what hashtag to use if she should like to share the news with her followers. 

Brienne backed up against the wall as another box was carried past her into the flat. She didn’t even try to find out what it was. 

This was mental. She didn’t know how to cope with everything. Hashtags? Fans? Free clothes? People actually wanted her to be seen in their designs? This was such a lot. 

Well. She had been looking for a distraction. 

‘So, listen,’ the guy said. ‘I know this is really unconventional, but like I said there’s an awful lot of boxes.’ He gave a pointed look at her arms. ‘Once you’ve moved your bike back, would you like to give us a hand?’ 

* 

By the time Brienne had helped finished unloading the van, Oathkeeper was the furthest thing on her mind. She'd opened up the garage but another boy had offered to wheel the bike to its place, in favour of letting Brienne heave flower arrangements and boxes up to her flat. She'd concentrate on it when she had time. 

Which wouldn’t be today. She stood, shell shocked in her living room doorway. There wasn’t a surface or spare bit of floor that hadn’t been covered by something. Flowers from fans made three rows along the back wall. There were some flowers the likes of which Brienne had never seen before, though she knew they must have been expensive. There were boxes from online clothing websites, offering her an exclusive deal with them, in return for her followers getting 20% off (Brienne hadn’t realised what they'd meant by followers at first. She hadn’t even checked her social media since she'd been out, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. When she'd gone into the show, she'd had 23 followers on Twitter and 39 on Instagram. Her Twitter followers were mostly bots, businesses, or defunct accounts and her Instagram contained two blurry shots of her from three years ago.) 

Judging from this, she'd have a lot more now. 

There were several boxes from non-clothing brands too. Brands that in the notes they'd sent, that Brienne had skimmed told her they were just sending her a product as they thought she would like it. There was no mention of social media. 

She hadn’t had time to do much, other than give the boxes a quick glance, but she already knew she now owned two more bike helmets from different companies, a full set of a new range of make-up from one of the biggest brands there was, 20 pens that were shaped likes swords from history, and two new sets of skin tight leggings and boxing gloves. 

And that was only the boxes she'd carried in. There were more. 

She was about to gather a pen and pad of paper from her kitchen to make notes of where to send thank you cards, when there was another ringing on her bell. If this was another van, she was going to refuse whatever was on it. Her suitcase from the house was sitting in a corner of her bedroom, since there was no room for it in the living room, and Oathkeeper was back and locked up. Those were the only items she really cared about. 

‘Did you forget something?’ she asked, opening the door. 

Then she smiled, so wide she felt like she was about to split her stitches. 

‘Fucking hell,’ Yara said, staring at Brienne's cheek, almost in awe. ‘She did a number of you, didn’t she?’ 

‘How did you know where to find me?’ Brienne asked, moving aside to let Yara and Ygritte into her house. She had thought about texting them to see how they were, but she'd realised she didn’t have their numbers. Asking Margaery for them had been on her list of things to do. 

‘Margaery,’ Ygritte said. She made to go into the living room, gave a low whistle and then headed into the kitchen like she'd been here a thousand times before. ‘She text us on Thursday to let us know what had happened with Jaime's ‘mugging',’ she made air quotes around the last word, ‘thought we'd like to know the truth.’ 

‘I can’t believe it,’ Yara said, shaking her head. It took Brienne a moment to remember Yara and Daenerys had been friends in the house. ‘I knew there was a dark side to her, she showed it to me a couple of times, but I never, ever thought she would do something like this. And to you! I should have told Petyr the first time she got those daggers out and started caressing them like they were babies but I thought, hey, we all have our quirks.’ She looked disgusted with herself. 

‘To be fair,’ Brienne said, hopping up onto a kitchen stool and inviting them both to do the same, ‘she didn’t actually intend to do this to me. That was entirely my own fault.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Ygritte said, and she and Yara shared a look. Brienne wondered just how much of the truth Margaery had told them. Probably everything. The story didn’t really make sense unless you knew the details. ‘Margaery told us about you and Jaime. But don’t worry. We won’t say anything. You can trust us.’ 

‘I do,’ Brienne said, smiling. It was good to see them, even if it was a little odd. Yara looked more put together than she ever had in the house, her hair styled and make-up applied expertly. She was wearing a pin striped skirt and waistcoat. ‘I'm sorry I didn’t tell you guys in the house.’ She’d kept so much of herself close to her chest all her life, it was hard knowing when to let someone in. She wasn’t used to these girl chats and to sharing feelings. 

‘You do like to keep your cards close,’ Ygritte said, but she flashed Brienne a smile. ‘Nothing wrong with that.’ 

‘The whole situation was a little strange,’ Yara said. ‘I don’t blame you for not telling us everything about yourself. We were all slightly altered versions of our self.’ She gestured down to her appearance. ‘I bet you never would have guessed I dress like this when I need to meet my fathers business partners but I do.’ 

It was weird. Brienne had spent so much time with these girls over the past five weeks, it was easy to assume you knew who they were. But each one had been a slightly different version of themselves inside that house , no matter how hard they'd tried not to be. 

‘Anyway, enough of this sappy shit,’ Ygritte declared. She leaned down and pulled a bottle of wine from her backpack. ‘It’s time for catching up and drinking. Where do you keep your glasses?’ she asked, staring vaguely around the kitchen like the glasses would just levitate through the correct cupboard door. 

‘Here,’ Brienne said, jumping down. She pulled two glasses from her cupboard, handing them to Ygritte. ‘I won’t be joining you on the wine.’ She gestured to her face. 

‘I guessed that, too,’ Ygritte said, this time pulling a bottle of non-alcoholic wine from her bag. ‘I came prepared.’ 

‘Margaery said that she’d stop by later if she could,’ Yara said. ‘And, don’t get mad, but she's invited a few of the others. Only the women you got on with,’ she added quickly at Brienne's expression. ‘And only those she knows she can trust. Although, technically, until the show finishes we're all still locked into our contracts so even if someone saw you and wanted to sell a story they couldn’t.’ 

‘I thought a few of the women had already done stories?’ Brienne said frowning. She could swear she remembered Margaery telling them about Shae selling a tell all already. 

‘Stories that Petyr has had full control over,’ Yara said. ‘I've got to hand it to him, he knows just how to play the media. Which reminds me,’ she said, turning to Brienne. ‘I know you’ve told everyone some bullshit story about how you’ve signed an exclusive deal with a magazine and won’t be speaking to any others until then, but there’s a society magazine who want to do a feature on several of us from the house. Something about Heirs of the Future? The ladies taking over the companies their relatives built or some such nonsense. Complete crap, but it should be a laugh. Up for it?’ 

‘Sure,’ Brienne said, shrugging. What harm could it do now? Her father would be delighted to milk this exposure for all it was worth. ‘Might have to give me a while.’ 

Yara shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. They've asked me, Margaery, you, Ygritte if her father still has his company by then, and Jeyne. Her father isn’t quite as rich as the Lannisters’ but he does own a rather high earning haulage company.’ 

‘Isn’t your father selling the business?’ Brienne asked Ygritte. The red head shrugged. 

‘Well, he said the exposure from this show has lit a new light under him and he’s finding his job interesting once again. Who knows how long that will last, but he's put the sale on hold for now. And since I'm earning a lot of money from magazines and promoted content since I've been out, I don’t really need the money now either.’ 

‘No luck on meeting Jon Snow yet?’ Brienne questioned. The subject had always been slightly touchy in the house, with Sansa around. Everyone knew Sansa could offer to introduce Ygritte and Jon, but she hadn’t. At least, not to Brienne's knowledge. 

‘Not yet, but he's touring the US at the moment, so it's not feasible,’ Ygritte said. ‘He's back two weeks on Thursday though so we'll see what happens.’ 

‘Well, you both seem to have adjusted well to the outside,’ Brienne said. She hoped she’d be like them in a week, going about her business as usual without a care in the world. She had a feeling it would take her slightly longer to adjust. 

‘It was a bit weird at first,’ Ygritte said. ‘And the first face to face fan encounter was freaky, but you get used to it. And I see you’ve received all your content,’ Ygritte said, nodding to the living room. ‘I almost had a heart attack when they turned up with all that shit at my door although I didn’t get half as much as you. Someone did send me Jon Snow's head made of cheese though, so technically I think I win.’ 

It was nice, sitting, passing the afternoon with the two women. Yara had warmed up pretty quickly, even though Brienne had been scared she'd still be angry for all the secrets kept from her. But Yara was tough. And she understood people better than Brienne could ever hope to. 

A few hours after they'd arrived, the doorbell rang again, and when Yara came back from answering it, Talisa, Gilly and Roslin followed in her wake. Talisa came straight in for a look at Brienne’s cheek, frowning a little and telling Brienne to be more careful unless she wanted to spend the night in an urgent care centre having it re-stitched. Brienne was glad to see her. As she was still under her contract not to talk about the show, Petyr had hired her to come and keep an eye on Brienne after the stabbing. Brienne had been grateful it was someone she knew, and even better, someone who was firm. Talisa had been great at getting Brienne to take care of herself in all the right ways, even though Brienne had thought herself perfectly fine to do things she shouldn’t have been doing. Without Talisa she knew her scar would be worse. Brienne didn’t know why she'd been so surprised when Talisa had walked into her room on Thursday afternoon. They all knew that Tywin had picked her as a contestant because of her charity work where she went to other countries offering aid in the worst war torn places imaginable. Brienne counted herself honoured to be among her patients. 

Gilly was now sporting a small bump, and she winked at Brienne when their gazes met. Roslin smiled at her, and Brienne felt a warmth spread through her. She might have lost Jaime, but she'd gained these amazing women, and that was enough. 

‘Ellaria sends her love, but she's currently off in another country,’ Yara said. ‘She is flying back in on Friday though, for the viewing party on Saturday. Apparently she and her lover are making up for lost time,’ Yara said pulling a face, like the idea of Ellaria's sex life was just too much for her, even though Brienne knew Yara had been a part of it in those early weeks. 

‘What viewing party?’ she asked. 

‘The one on Saturday night,’ Gilly answered after a small pause. None of them had asked Brienne about anything to do with Jaime, or about her face, and she was grateful. But none of them had seemed surprised to see her with a huge gash across her cheek either. Margaery had done her job well. ‘It was in the contact when we signed for the show. There’s going to be a huge party at the hotel the F&F are staying in. Previous contestants are invited to go and watch the final episode and cheer on the new married couple.’ Gilly swallowed, then looked down at her bump. ‘Obviously I won’t be going. Petyr nearly killed me when I stuttered my secret out to him the day before I left. He says there’s no way I'm telling the public about it now, either. Not until after the show.’ Gilly shrugged, like it was no big deal. 

‘Right,’ Brienne said. She had known about the viewing party. She'd just forgotten. They were going to film it for the website. ‘Well, I won’t be going either,’ she said. ‘Not with this cut.’ 

‘Me and Sam are planning on having a small viewing party at his instead,’ Gilly said eagerly. ‘Petyr’s told him he won’t be needed on the day. You can come watch with us if you like.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Brienne said. She swallowed, trying to turn her mind away from Saturday. Away from watching Jaime marry the love of his life. She was going to be happy for him if it killed her, but she didn’t want to have to pretend in front of other people. ‘Things with you and Sam are going well then?’ she asked instead. 

‘So well,’ Gilly replied and there was a sparkle in her eye and a flush on her cheeks. ‘He’s the sweetest man I've ever met and he doesn’t even mind about the little one,’ she said, rubbing her stomach. ‘He's already asked me to move in with him, once the show ends. We have to keep quiet about it for the time being, but afterwards, Petyr says we can do whatever we want.’   
'And the baby's father doesn't mind you shacking up with another guy?' Yara asked as she passed them by.   
'No,' Gilly said shaking her head, her hair fell over her face. 'The baby's father was a one night stand, and I don't even know his name. I'd have no idea how to track him down either, and from what I remember, I don't think I want to. Sam's more than I could ever ask for.' 

‘That's great,’ Brienne said. It was great. Sam and Gilly were the sweetest couple. She felt tears pricking her eyes, and willed herself not to cry. Something was wrong with her. She'd never cried this much in her life.   
‘I feel like I missed so much in the house. What's everybody else up to?’ she asked, wanting to switch to a safe topic. She could get lost in their stories for a little while. She settled herself back on her stool, letting everybody’s words wash over her. Talisa turned coy when speaking about her new boyfriend. Someone mentioned that Myranda and Ramsay had got back together again and that took up a whole twenty minutes as they all discussed if they thought it would last. 

The doorbell rang again, and Roslin went to answer it, coming back with Margaery who clapped her hands when she saw everyone and ran to hug them all, Melisandre, who immediately struck up a conversation with Ygritte about the latest Jon Snow news (apparently the rumour was he was going to split from his backing band ‘The Rangers' who had been with him since day 1, although Ygritte refused to believe it), and then, Missandei. 

Brienne froze, her hand immediately flying to her sore cheek. If anyone knew what Daenerys had planned it would be Missandei. 

‘I didn’t know,’ Missandei said, sliding up next to Brienne. She spoke quietly so as not to be overheard by the others, none of who seemed to find her appearance here confusing. 

But then, Brienne supposed, if it wasn’t for the fact that Daenerys had been hell bent on murderous revenge, she'd probably be here too. They'd thought she could be trusted. ‘Please believe me. I knew she wasn’t there to marry Jaime, that she was only pretending to like him...but I didn’t know her reasons.’ 

‘It's okay,’ Brienne said, laying a hand on the girl's arm. ‘I trust you.’ 

‘She didn’t mean to hurt you,’ Missandei said. ‘She would never dream of hurting someone innocent.’ There was something in her words, how she spoke about Daenerys in the present tense that sent goose bumps pricking up Brienne's arms. 

If Daenerys had needed somebody to contact, why not the girl she'd bonded most with? After all, said girl came from a beautiful far away country that not many people had heard of, let along could be bothered to visit. If you needed somewhere to escape and lie low for a while, Missandei's home town would be the perfect place. 

Brienne opened her mouth to ask Missandei. Then she closed it. It wasn’t her business. She just hoped, that wherever Daenerys was, it was somewhere she could finally find peace. 

* 

By Friday evening, when Brienne finally arrived at her father’s studio, she was exhausted. She’d spent her days trying to sort out her life, or at least the parts of it she could control. She’d been through all the items she’d been sent, sorting them out into piles. She’d decided to only keep a few things, although she’d taken photos of everything so she could eventually thank the brands on twitter. That had been her new agent’s idea, and she had to admit it was a good one. 

She’d had a four-hour meeting with her agent on Thursday. Jaqen H’ghar was a little scary, but he apparently only took on the best of the reality show contestants and Brienne had been very lucky to get him. He’d come over to her house, stared at her face for twenty minutes in silence, before proclaiming that the fake exclusive interview plan was genius and that she should avoid going out as much as she could for the next four weeks. He’d been full of great ideas about how she’d get around posting on social media for the next few weeks too. Brienne would have to post at some point. According to him, it was terrible that she hadn’t already. She could have taken a blurry shot of a home comfort, and posted #greattobehome or even just a thank you to the fans who’d voted to keep her in. 

Jaquen had decided that since she was going to her father’s studio, that would be the perfect first post for her. It would link her coming out, and her brand together. She was to take a photo of the mysterious product Sapphire would be launching when her interview eventually hit the stands. This would get customers hyped up for the release. 

Apparently. 

Everything Brienne wasn’t keeping – quite a lot of the clothes, most of which were too small for her (she guessed that the brands hadn’t wanted to seem rude, so had sent her a size down. But Brienne wasn't going to force herself into too tight clothes just because they were free), 18 of the sword shaped pens, the two motorbike helmets, since she’d become quite attached to the one The Hound had given her, plus a number of other items were being donated to a local charity shop just down the road from her. She’d made a note of who to send thank you cards to, although she couldn’t really do that with the fans who had sent her gifts or flowers. She’d kept most of those, tidied away at the back of her walk in wardrobe. Just knowing they were there gave her a little warm glow. People hadn’t needed to send her things. To spend their own money on her. But they had. Most of the flowers were being donated to a few old people's homes. Brienne appreciated the gesture, but it didn't make her like flowers again, and she thought somebody should get some enjoyment out of them. 

She’d been a little surprised to see that the most expensive bouquet of flowers had come from Tywin Lannister – or at least his assistant. She‘d assumed he’d just ignore her. 

She’d sent him a thank you card. 

The car her father had sent, glided to a stop outside the Sapphire studios, and Brienne took a deep breath before getting out. She hadn’t been here for almost three years, truth be told. This was the side of the business that her father still hadn’t really let her be a part of, so she’d taken on all the other aspects first. 

The studio was a slightly run-down building in a street filled with warehouses and depots. Giant lorries were constantly turning into long roads, their engines loud as they waited for the barriers to let them in or out of their selected buildings car parks. 

The only thing that let you know this was the Sapphire building was a small plaque next to the doors, and the fact that the doors leading into the building were the copyrighted shade of blue. This was where the magic happened. Where new products were designed. Where the handbags were pumped out as fast as possible. Where all the brains behind Sapphire met for their working day. Her father had his office of course, but this was where he spent most of his time. 

Once Brienne took over the company, her office would be here. She already had the perfect room picked out, the one at the top of the building. It had stood as a meeting room for years, but she already had vague plans in her head on how to re-design it once she took over. 

At this time of night there was just one security guard around. He nodded at her as she swiped her way into the building. Her father hadn’t told her where to meet him, but he’d be around somewhere. 

The building was empty as Brienne walked through it, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The layout was the same, but this photographic studio hadn’t existed last time she’d been here. It was easier for them to photograph the products on site instead of having to cart them around and pay for travel expenses and whatever other costs crept up. 

The reception looked the same as always, except it was empty, a forgotten black cardigan draped over the front chair. 

There was no sign of her father in any of the offices, or the staff canteen. He wasn’t in any of the meeting rooms, or the artist’s studio. Brienne made her way towards the back of the building, heading towards the very last room. This was where they kept all their top secret products. Only those with the highest clearance had permission to go into this room. 

Brienne swiped her card again, waiting for the doors to swish open and allow her entrance. She didn‘t think that whatever product her father had decided to launch with her interview would need guarding - she’d been thinking along the line of a blouse, or a new sports range - but her father obviously had something bigger in mind. 

It was only when the doors had closed behind her, and she’d walked further into the room, the lights overhead automatically flicking on as they sensed her, that she realised what was actually hidden here. 

She felt a flash of pain rip through her, and muffled the cry she could feel rising up inside her. 

Brienne was an idiot. 

* 

‘Wondrous, aren’t they?’ Selwyn Tarth boomed as he entered the room. Brienne had only been in the room for a couple of minutes. She hoped it had been long enough to get her emotions under control. It was ridiculous she’d forgotten. ‘Our team have really outdone themselves.’ Her father walked to stand beside her, and Brienne turned to him, glad of the distraction. 

It was almost like looking in a mirror. Or at herself in an alternative universe. Her father was a little taller and a little broader. His hair was coarser and longer and she knew that most people who saw him walking down the street would cross the road to avoid him. 

But his eyes, the same colour of hers were lit by a kindness and surrounded by laughter lines. She knew, that had he allowed himself to be photographed by anyone in the past ten years or so, the connection between them would have been made in no time. 

‘They’ll be the talk of the episode,’ she said, tearing her attention away from the two identical wedding dresses that stood pride of place in the center of the room. ‘Petyr will be delighted.’ 

‘He better be,’ Selwyn said. ‘I’ve had people working on these for almost a year.’ 

Brienne opened her mouth to say something to that. A year? The One hadn’t approached her about being on the show until four months before it had started airing, and from what she’d heard none of the other contestants had known anything about it much before she had. Her father had known about this for a whole six months before he’d mentioned it to her? 

Then she closed her mouth. She was sure there would be many more things she’d find out that she hadn’t realised. Nothing about the show had been real, and she couldn’t be outraged about all the things she’d thought had been. ‘He's been pestering me about appearing in this Sapphire documentary he's planning. He owns all the rights to the footage of you from the show, of course, but I had to remind him he didn’t have any rights over me.’ 

Brienne knew that wouldn’t stop Petyr. This documentary would be shoe horned out as soon as possible to cash in on the current interest. 

‘Petyr's sending a team of people to pick them up tomorrow morning,’ Selwyn said, walking towards the two mannequins. Brienne focused her gaze back on the dresses. She could get through this. She was fine. ‘They only finished them at 10am this morning,’ he said, trailing a hand over the silk skirt of one of the dresses. ‘They had a few designs drawn up months ago, but we couldn't really start making them until last Saturday. Not until we knew which two of you would be in the final.’ 

‘Right,’ Brienne said. She had a vague memory of having to be measured before the show started, but she’d blocked it out. Sansa and Cersei had no doubt been measured again this week, to make sure the dresses were as perfect as possible. 

And they were. She could already tell that the smaller one would fit Sansa like a second skin, and that the longer dress would hug every inch of Cersei’s body. 

The dresses were identical, apart from the sizes. Each of them featured a sleeveless bodice with a long swishy skirt made from silk that pooled around the floor. The dresses were white, except from the bottom of the skirts, which rose through shades of blue like a night sky, the Sapphire colour around the hem of the dresses. There was a scattering of diamonds across the bodice and the skirt, which Brienne knew would sparkle prettily under the lights in the barn Jaime and Cersei were to be married in. 

The back was fitted with 24 tiny buttons, and there was a Sapphire blue veil for each of them to wear, along with a sparkling silver tiara, decorated with tiny detailed flowers and literal sapphires. Beside each of the mannequins were a pair of Sapphire blue satin covered heels. 

‘And of course, we weren’t sure which design we’d be going with,’ Selwyn said. ‘Because if you‘d made the final, I’d knew you’d prefer something with sleeves.’ He stroked the mannequin's arm, like he was picturing the dress with sleeves. ‘And probably something a little less form fitting. Am I right?’ He looked at her, his blue eyes so much like hers pinning her where she stood. 

‘Sure,’ she agreed, trying for a smile. She’d never really thought about her wedding dress. Even when she pictured winning the contest, the dress she’d been in had been a bog standard white poufy skirted one. But she supposed her father was right. She would want sleeves. And a bigger skirt than the ones on these dresses. 

And maybe a few less sparkles. Brienne didn’t really think she was that much of a sparkly person. 

‘So, how are you doing?’ her father asked, and Brienne blinked, coming back to the room. He was still gazing at her, and she averted her eyes. Her and her father might not be that close, but he’d always been able to see through her. ‘Getting voted off can’t have been fun, not when you were so close to winning.’ 

She tried for a smile again. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. Then she signed. She already knew he wasn’t going to buy that. ‘I didn’t want to marry Jaime. Him and Cersei will make a beautiful couple.’ 

‘Okay,’ Selwyn said, and left it there. She wasn’t sure he believed her. 

But, being able to read her, meant he also knew when she didn’t want to talk. And he’d always been great at not pushing her. If she wanted to talk, she’d talk to him. He knew that too. ‘And your face? How’s that doing?’ He came closer to her then, peering at her cheek, and Brienne suppressed a sigh. She was already getting annoyed with people coming up and looking at her cheek, and she’d only been out a week. And she’d barely seen anyone. 

‘Getting better,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an appointment with the doctors next week. But the swelling is already going down, and the bruises should clear up nicely.’ 

They’d already had this conversation the morning after it had happened, when Brienne had called him from Margaery’s mobile. He’d wanted to come over to the house and see her. She’d told him it wasn’t needed. She just wanted to get some sleep and she’d see him as soon as she could. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d agreed to her wishes. 

‘Well, it looks better than the photo you sent me,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you, Brienne.’ 

‘Me too, Dad,’ she said, and this time it was a genuine smile on her face. 

‘Your mother would be proud of you,’ he said, sounding a little gruff. They were both facing forward in the room, neither of them looking at the other. ‘The way you handled yourself during all those tasks. And Gal, too. I could almost picture him, sitting on the sofa, shouting at you to ‘get the bastard,’ when you took on that guy in the first week.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Brienne said, keeping her gaze steady on the wedding dresses in front of her. Her family might not be as close as the Tyrell’s or the Stark’s. They might have lost two of their members. 

But she and her father still had each other. And that was worth a lot. 

* 

On Saturday morning, Brienne woke up to her phone ringing. She answered, not bothering to check who it was, and then yanked the phone away from her ear when a loud scream echoed down the line. 

‘I can’t believe you’d send me that text and not follow up with a photo!’ Sansa said once she’d finished yelling. ‘Surely the benefit of having a best friend who owns the company making the wedding dress is that I get to see it before anyone else?’ 

‘We are still friends then?’ Brienne asked, sitting up in bed, and rubbing her eyes. It had been late last night when she’d got in, after her and her father had gone for a late night coffee and caught each other up on everything that had happened over the past 5 weeks, and she’d still been wide awake at 5am. In the end, she‘d had to take a sleeping tablet to make sure she got some rest. 

She’d kind of hoped it would knock her out for the whole day. But no luck. 

‘Of course, we are,’ Sansa said, her voice going soft. ‘I know what you did, but I don’t blame you. If I’d thought of it, I would have done it weeks ago. And anyway, it hasn’t been so bad here. Petyr obviously feels bad about me still being here, so he’s packed the week making me and Cersei do activities. We’ve been cooking, and doing non-stop interviews, answering questions from viewers. We had to show off our five favourite outfits, and talk about our five favourite fictional couples. It’s been so busy.’ 

‘You sound like you‘ve been having a good time,’ Brienne said. 

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Sansa said. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t replied to you, but my phone died and Margaery took both chargers with her. I only plucked up the courage to ask Cersei to borrow hers yesterday and she just handed it over wordlessly. I’m a little worried about her,’ Sansa said, lowering her voice. ‘She’s just been doing what Petyr had asked us to do. No comments, no nothing. And then once we’ve finished, she disappears to her bedroom, with the dog.’ 

‘I imagine it’s a little over whelming,’ Brienne said, carefully. ‘She’s finally getting to marry Jaime after thirty years. It’s a lot to take in.’ 

‘Maybe,’ Sansa said, but she didn’t sound like she was overly concerned for Cersei’s wellbeing. 

Well, it was none of Brienne’s business. Once the wedding aired tonight, it would officially be all over. 

Apart from the interview she had to give about her time in the house, with a magazine in a few weeks' time when her cut had healed a little. 

And apart from the wrap party in two weeks' time, once Jaime and Cersei were back from their honeymoon. The party that required all the previous contestants to attend. It was supposed to be their first meeting with Jaime. It would be filmed and go on the website. 

Brienne felt a clutch of nerves, and tried to steady her breathing. It would be fine. She could face Jaime. All she’d have to do, was go up to him, say hello, nice to meet you at last, smile and make small talk for a few minutes. They wouldn’t need more than that from her, not with nineteen other women for him to greet. It would be fine. 

‘Tell me more about the dress,’ Sansa said now. Brienne gave a small laugh. She knew it had been mean to send Sansa a text saying ‘I’ve just seen the wedding dresses. Don’t cry,’ but she hadn’t been able to resist. 

Plus, she thought Sansa would appreciate the fair warning. The dresses were stunning, which would make Sansa emotional. 

Then when she remembered she had to wear it for no reason, she’d be even more upset. This perfect wedding dress wasn’t her actual wedding dress. 

‘You’ll look beautiful,’ Brienne said now. 

Sansa sighed. ‘I’m already so mad that it’s the only time I’ll ever get to wear a Sapphire wedding dress. They won’t let me keep it after the show – I've already asked, and you don’t make wedding dresses.’ She already sounded a little teary. 

Brienne felt her heat beat pick up a little. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone...but Sansa wasn’t just anyone. 

‘Well, you never know what the Sapphire brand might get into next,’ Brienne said lightly, thinking about the plans her father had shown her last night. It seemed these wedding dresses had given him a taste. 

Sapphire Wedding Dresses were the new product that would launch with Brienne’s interview. Five designs, available to buy from the Sapphire shop for the first year. And a range of accessories. 

‘Don’t tell me anymore,’ Sansa said, followed by a squeal. ‘I don’t have any brain space to process anything else today.’ 

‘No,’ Brienne said, coming back down to earth with a bump. 'No, I don’t imagine you do. I should let you go. I imagine your busy.’ 

‘The make-up and hair teams are arriving in twenty minutes,’ Sansa said. ‘I probably should go. I just wanted to check in. You’re okay?’ 

‘I am,’ Brienne said. If she said it enough, it would become true. 

Eventually. 

‘Are you going to the viewing party tonight?’ Sansa asked. 

‘I’m still not allowed to be seen in public with the cut,’ Brienne said. She heard from somewhere a doorbell ringing, and then Sansa’s muffled curses. 

‘Oh, Gods, Sam’s just arrived to go through the running of the day, like we don’t already know. I have to go. You’ll be okay,’ Sansa said. ‘And I’ll come visit tomorrow. I’m actually getting out of here, for real this time. There is literally nothing that can keep me here. I’m so excited, I’m practically vibrating.’ They rushed their goodbyes, and then Sansa was gone. 

Brienne stared down at her phone. She could go back to sleep, but she was wide awake now. She knew there were viewers out there going about their day, excited for tonight. Previous contestants who were getting ready for the viewing party. 

Instead she pulled up her Instagram and Twitter. She’d posted a photo last night. Her good side carefully turned to the camera, and a sheet of see through blue fabric cascading from her head. 

She hadn’t wanted to wear the veil, but her father had insisted. She’d point blank refused the tiara though. 

I might not get to wear the wedding dress, but how’s this for a sneak peek at the veil? There are perks to owning Sapphire after all! Thank you to everyone’s who voted to keep me in for as long as you did – I had a blast in that house! Make sure you tune in tomorrow night to see who #TheOne for Jaime Lannister is! Good Luck to both Cersei and Sansa – although for different reasons! More to come soon, I promise, once I get to grips with everything. Once again, thank you for believing in me. You cannot possibly know how much it meant / means to see all the love you’ve shown me these past few weeks. Brienne T #theone #jamielannister #briennetarth #sapphire #wedding 

It didn’t sound like her at all, but she’d just copied and pasted whatever her agent had sent her last night. 

She had hundreds of comments. Some of them from famous people she’d never even met. She could see that a few previous contestants had left emojis under the photo, and she knew from a text she’d received from Jaqen that out of all the previous contestants hers had reached the most likes in the shortest amount of time. 

She wondered if that was supposed to make her happy. 

She chucked her phone to the side, wondering how best to spend her day. A bath. A couple of films. A book. And an early night. 

She wondered what Jaime was up to now. Sitting in his hotel, surrounded by his friends and family, chuckling about finally getting what he’d always wanted? 

She wondered if he’d think about her, and then shot out of bed, shoving the thought to the back of her mind. It was over. 

Her and Jaime would never be together and she had to accept that. She had to. Because she didn’t know how to move on if she couldn’t.


	16. Chapter 16

On Thursday night, while Brienne went to bed for the first time with her mind not on Jaime, but instead on ‘social branding’ and ‘appropriate hashtags', Jaime himself turned over in his bed to watch the sleeping form of Cersei. This was the first time they'd been together in weeks and their only chance to see each other before the wedding on Saturday. When Cersei had floated the idea to Jaime over the phone earlier that day he had seen no reason to try and put her off. They were going to be together. They were meant to be together. The universe had quite plainly told him that. 

In all their years, this was the only time he'd ever thought about completely letting go of Cersei, and his plans had been dashed. He finally understood the phrase be careful what you wished for. 

Cersei was all he'd ever wished for. And he no longer wanted her. 

He turned again, till he was staring up at the ceiling. The hotel sheets made soft rustling sounds as he shifted onto his back. He would miss these sheets. And this bed. It was much bigger than his own, and made fresh every week. He rarely bothered to change his sheets. His father had been after him to hire a cleaner but Jaime had fought Tywin every step of the way. Just because he didn’t clean the place, didn’t mean he wasn't capable himself of doing it. But maybe he should look into hiring someone once he got back. 

Jaime had spent a lot of time this week thinking about the outside world. With the show coming to an end, he supposed it was only natural to wonder about it. 

In all honestly, he didn’t think his life would change that much. He was used to being the center of attention wherever he went. People stopping him on the street to ask for a photo. Strangers whispering and pointing at parties, or people he'd thought were friends ignoring his calls. He'd been written about in the media his whole life, and it hadn’t all been glowing reviews of his personality. He thought the interest in him would flare bright for a while and then die down, and go back to being what it once was. 

And then, with a jolt, he'd suddenly remember he would be married. Cersei would be at his side for the photos. Cersei would be written about, their names printed together for the first time ever. She'd have to attend family dinners, and she’d probably want to come into the office with him most days. Her twins would be around during school holidays and some weekends. 

He'd have to live with Joffrey. 

This future, that had once filled Jaime with joy, now made a heavy dread burn in his chest. For the first time, he wondered how him and Cersei would spend their evenings. When their time together was no longer limited, what would they do? Hadn’t these six weeks proved they had very little shared interests? She wouldn’t come to the gym with him. Or go on history tours. And he could think of nothing worse than spending a weekend shopping for new clothes, something he knew Cersei loved to do. 

He should tell her. Wake her up, right now, and tell her how he was feeling. Say he'd fallen out of love, and the rose tinted glasses he supposed he'd had on for thirty years had fallen off. It wasn’t fair to marry a woman he no longer loved. 

But. He didn’t really have a choice. He had promised Petyr a wedding, and if Petyr didn’t get one on Saturday there would be hell to pay. Jaime knew Petyr's games; all kinds of things would be leaked to the press about the Lannisters. Probably even Jaime's F&F would feel the brunt of Petyr's anger, as false and horrible stories about them were released into the world. 

Jaime stifled a grin as he recalled the papers from Sunday. The whole day was a little blurry, even though he'd finally been released from hospital. He was in a kind of shocked state. Brienne was gone. The public had decided she wasn’t the one for Jaime after all. The dreams he'd had for the past week had dissolved back into the dust they were made from. 

But Jaime remembered the story about Pod and, as Bronn had called it, ‘his magic cock.’ That had pierced through Jaime's fog. He could still recall Pod's little red face on Sunday as Bronn insisted on reading the entire article out loud and then all the Tweets. 

It had almost cheered Jaime up. 

So no. Jaime couldn’t not marry Cersei. Ha had to go through with it. Which meant he couldn’t tell her anything. If she had even one inkling that his feelings had changed she would scream and shout and refuse to go through with the wedding. She would need to be certain things were as they always had been. 

He could go through with his other plan, and just let the public decide who he should marry. The idea had floated into his head a few times, but he could never get any further with it. He couldn’t do that to Sansa. It wasn’t fair, even though it might be the best thing. He knew her parents would never let her marry him. Knowing the Starks, one of them was probably planning to fake a heart attack just as the wedding was about to go ahead, which would lead to another one rushing Sansa out of the ceremony, and away from him. 

So that was out too. It had to be Cersei, and he had to marry her. 

It was ridiculous how feelings could change so suddenly, he thought. Then he remembered Tyrion’s words, and his realization last week, that him and Cersei hadn’t really been in love for years, but were just gravitating back towards each other because it was easy and fun to annoy Tywin. These feelings had been festering under Jaime’s skin for a while. 

It was just Brienne who had made him see them. 

He shifted again, back to stare at Cersei. The moonlight filtered across their bed, highlighting her body perfectly. She was stretched out like a lioness, staking her claim. This was her place. 

She was still beautiful, of course. Nothing would change that. But Jaime wasn’t filled with the lust and desire for her that he had always been. When they were teenagers, her body had driven him wild. He couldn’t wait to have his hands on her. 

Now he couldn’t bear to image touching her. They hadn’t even had sex tonight. He'd assumed they would, but apart from a chaste kiss when Cersei had first entered, there had been no mention of it from either of them. Instead, they'd just gone to bed. Cersei had allowed Jaime to hold her for half an hour before she pushed him away , complaining she was too hot. 

He knew it was wrong, but it was like he had no control over his brain. As he lay there, staring at Cersei, he wondered what it would be like if her edges were softer. If her stomach and back and limbs were full of taunt muscles. If her shoulders were broader, her hair shorter and blonder, her skin paler. He wondered about her eyelashes becoming stubbier, and lighter. About her lips pillowing out under a previously broken nose. How her eyes would flutter open, to reveal blue eyes that would fill him with a warmth and happiness that he'd come to crave in only four short weeks. 

And then he felt sick, as he pasted Brienne onto Cersei. Neither of them deserved to be treated like this. They deserved better. 

They deserved for him to be better. 

He'd watched all he could, about Brienne's elimination. Had loaded up the show website as soon as the boys had left him alone on Sunday evening. The show had filmed the actual elimination. Had filmed (half of) Brienne's calm, blank face as she saw her black cloak. 

They'd filmed a small piece with her in the taxi going home too. Her face was carefully turned to one side, as she looked through a tablet loaded with all the articles written about her time in the house. She’d smiled. And talked, making it sound like these past five weeks had been a great experience. 

But she hadn’t been heartbroken, and Jaime cursed himself for ever thinking that she would have been. 

He knew there had been something there. That his feelings for Brienne hadn’t been one sided, that her literally jumping in front of him to save his life meant something, (although if there was one person he believed would jump in front of a dagger for anyone, it would be Brienne Tarth), that her kissing him back hadn’t just been because he had taken her by surprise. 

But maybe it was just a crush for her. Maybe he was just her escape while she'd been trapped in a house, being told what to do, competing for a man she believed wasn’t worth it. 

Maybe her opinion of him hadn’t changed as much as he'd hoped it had. 

‘You’re staring at me,’ Cersei said, breaking whatever spell had been cast over their room. She’d left Joffrey at the house tonight, thankfully. She'd said it was because she hadn’t wanted to draw any attention to them tonight, but Jaime thought it was probably more to do with wanting to terrorize Sansa. 

‘I can’t help it,’ Jaime said, the lie tripping smoothly off his tongue. 

He really hated himself sometimes. 

‘It’s okay,’ Cersei said, her voice soft. Her eyes fluttered open, and his heart remained steady as the green irises were exposed. 

He felt nothing. 

‘Do you love me?’ Jaime asked, hating himself at once for having to ask. Cersei hated sappy moments like this. She would always scoff and roll her eyes telling him that she wouldn’t love him if he needed constant reassurance. 

But he needed to know. If she loved him, he could do this. It would be cruel for a while, to let her love drag them along, but he'd be able to come back to her one day. When Brienne was a distant memory and him and Cersei were settled. 

He expected Cersei to ignore him. To turn over, huffing and go back to sleep. 

Instead she kept her gaze on him, and he felt like they were really looking at each other for the first time in years. 

‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s all we've ever wanted.’ 

* 

Cersei kissed him goodbye at 5am the next morning, climbing into the car that had been waiting at the hotel for her all night and barely looking back. Jaime could see her pull her phone out as soon as the door shut, and start tapping away into it. She was probably trying to contact her kids, make sure they'd still be coming tomorrow. 

Jaime hadn’t looked at his phone for a few days. He still reached for it whenever he heard it ring, hoping to see a certain barman's name on his screen, but then let it ring out when it wasn't Davos calling. He wasn’t supposed to be answering his phone, or responding to texts anyway, so he didn’t feel bad about all the people he was ignoring. 

Today was his last night as a single man. He should be feeling overwhelming joy right now. The F&F were all coming around to the house tonight (bar Tywin) for his stupid stag party. Jaime would have to go there soon. Make sure everything was set up for this evening, make sure there wasn’t any obvious dust in the place, and pretend he'd been there all along. 

He would miss the hotel, but he was looking forward to going back to his flat. It was his place of comfort, and although he knew he would only be there for a few nights, before he officially moved into Cersei's family home, he was looking forward to those few nights. 

‘For someone who's getting everything he's ever wanted tomorrow, why do you look like you’re about to be hanged?’ The Hound had snuck up behind Jaime, and he jumped, before pretending he hadn’t. 

‘Just contemplating life,’ Jaime said. ‘It’s a lot. To get everything you’ve ever wished for.’ He tried to get a dreamy look in his eye, like he was just oh so misty eyed about spending the rest of his life with the woman he loved, but The Hound's expression didn’t change. ‘What are you doing out here anyway?’ Jaime asked. The reason Cersei had to go back so early was so that nobody would see her. Even though the sun was already filtering through the clouds, there was silence all around. Nobody was up this early. 

‘Watching you,’ The Hound said. ‘Or did you forget that someone tried to take you out with a dagger last week?’ 

‘Daenerys has already tried and failed to kill me,’ Jaime said. ‘Don’t you think you can leave the whole bodyguard thing now?’ Jaime had not been impressed to learn that The Hound had been hired to be his bodyguard. He'd been even less impressed when he'd realised The Hound had done such a shitty job, by letting Brienne get hurt. 

‘I've been paid for the full six weeks, so I intend to keep you alive until then,’ The Hound grunted. ‘And since you seem like you're about to throw yourself off a bridge, I figure you still need someone watching out for you.’ 

‘I'm fine,’ Jaime said, his teeth gritted. He turned, walking from the underground car park back towards the hotel. 

‘No, you’re not,’ The Hound said, and Jaime stopped. 

When he turned back, The Hound was in the same place, his arms folded, still looking like somebody you wouldn’t want to cross. But there was a look on his face that made Jaime feel disgusted. 

Pity. 

‘I don’t know what you think you know, but I assure you I am fine. More than fine,’ Jaime said, the fire snaking through his body. He would scream about his feelings for Cersei until everyone believed him, himself included. He would make them see, make them realise.... 

But almost as soon as it had come, the fight went out of him. What was the point? The Hound knew how he was feeling. The Hound had seen it. He'd seen Jaime and Brienne at The Bear Pit, night after night. He'd been there that evening at the hospital, the only one who'd been allowed to see her. Jaime himself still didn’t even know how bad her face was. He'd refused to speak her name since she'd been voted out of the contest. Out of his life. 

When he'd got back to the hotel on Sunday, everyone had looked at him a little fearfully. So he'd pasted his famous smirk on his face, and said ‘guess that solves that problem for me!’ and everyone had acted like Jaime hadn’t developed feelings for another woman. The plan was still a go. 

Bronn hadn’t even brought up what Jaime had wanted to talk to him about. Jaime guessed it had slipped his mind. 

‘It’s not over yet,’ The Hound said. ‘There’s still 24 hours before the show tomorrow. Plenty could happen.’ 

Jaime had thought about everything. About leaving his contract. About calling Brienne. About storming around to her house and demanding to be let in. 

But there was no point. Brienne was fine with being voted out of the show. A couple of the previous contestants had posted a few photos on social media the other night, and you could see the blurry outline of Brienne in the background, laughing and joking with them, although she wasn’t the focus in any of the photos. 

Just looking at Brienne had made Jaime ache in a way he'd never felt before. 

He couldn’t force her to be with him, not if she didn’t want to be. And she'd made it perfectly clear that she didn’t. Which was why he hadn’t walked out. Why he hadn’t asked anyone for her number, even though he knew he could. He hadn’t gone to her flat either, even though the address was written in her neat handwriting on the page of information Tyrion had pulled out of his bag on the first elimination . Those pages with the women’s faces on them were pretty much all gone now, just two remaining. And those hadn't fared much better, as they’d been covered in coffee cups and had wine dropped on them in the weeks they'd been lying around. 

When Jaime had come back to the hotel on Sunday he'd been glad to see Tyrion had already removed Brienne and Margaery’s pages from the table. He wouldn’t have been able to watch Brienne's being ripped up. 

‘Nothing will happen,’ Jaime said. He was with Cersei. That was where he was meant to be. This was just a rough patch, a test that he'd failed spectacularly . ‘Tomorrow me and Cersei will finally be married.’ He would fall in love with her again. He would. 

She didn’t deserve this from him.   
He needed to let Brienne go. Release her from his mind, as it were. 

And there was only one place he could go to do that. 

‘I need to say goodbye,’ he said, and if The Hound needed clarification he didn’t ask for it. ‘I need to go and...I just need to let go.’ 

It was probably the most open Jaime had been about his feelings. But it was okay. Because this was The Hound, and he wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn't make a shitty joke like Bronn, or try to turn Jamie's wants into an hour long talk like Tyrion. He wouldn’t blush and accidentally reveal Jamie's secrets to everyone else like Pod. 

‘Come on then,’ said The Hound – and Jaime really need to stop calling him that. He would find out what his actual name was soon, he promised himself -, and pulled a set of car keys from his pocket. ‘Tell me where you want to go.’ 

* 

Jaime would love to say that The Bear Pit looked beautiful in the cold light of the early morning, but he'd be lying. This was a building best seen at night, where dark and drunk was the best way to hide a multitude of sins. 

The cold grey light picked out the dirt ingrained on the windows, showed how old and worn the bricks were. There was no hiding the litter that had blown down the street and scattered around the car park, or the years old graffiti scrawled onto the side of one wall. 

Maybe it was fitting for Jaime to see it like this, the last time. He could finally see the realness of it, instead of viewing it in a dream like state. What happened here hadn’t been real, but rather a fantasy brought on by circumstances. 

When The Hound turned the engine off, Jaime got out. He was expecting to be a little jumpy. After all, the last time he'd been here, he'd been attacked. 

Instead he just felt an overwhelming sadness. 

‘Not here to cause more trouble are you?’ Davos said, as he appeared around the corner. Jaime could vaguely make out a truck unloading a delivery further down the street, and he guessed by the trolley loaded with boxes that Davos was pulling along behind him, that this was the barman's usual working time. 

He wished he'd known. He didn’t want an audience for this. He was worried he might cry. 

‘Not this time,’ Jaime said, smiling a little in spite of himself. Davos was looking him up and down, Jaime knew checking for injuries. It was good to see him. No matter what Bronn and Pod had said about Davos being alright, Jaime had been a little worried. Davos had been nothing but nice to Jaime, calling him when Brienne was back at the bar, letting Jaime buy the whole place for the evening so he could talk to Brienne. He hadn’t wanted the older man to worry. 

‘You doing all right then?’ Davos asked. The trolley was positioned on the ground and Jaime braced himself for a chat. 

There was a piece of black and yellow police tape stuck to one of the posts in the car park, a tiny little tail piece flapping in the wind, and Jaime tried hard to force his mind away from that evening. Away from the image of Brienne running into the fight to help him. 

‘They let me out of the hospital,’ Jaime said. ‘My ribs are still a little painful but I can manage.’ They'd told him it could be up to six weeks until he felt no pain. His walking had improved and he could even jog his stomach a little now without wincing with the effort but he was finding it a lot harder than he'd expected being back out in the world with bad ribs. 

‘And your girl?’ Davos asked. ‘How’s Brienne doing? I’m a little offended to be honest. I thought she’d be back here as soon as she got voted off but I haven’t even heard from her. I know she asked those friends of yours to come check on me, but I was hoping the woman herself would make an appearance.’ 

Brienne wasn’t Jaime’s girl. She never would be. ‘I tell you, it's reasons like this I hate the British public sometimes,’ Davos continued. ‘They always make such stupid choices, when anyone could see you and her would have been great together.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Jaime said, a little overcome with emotion. It was nice to hear that someone had been rooting for them. ‘I believe she’s okay, although I haven’t heard from her either. She’s probably just adjusting to life back in the real world.’ He tried not to think that Brienne was putting the five weeks behind her, which meant forgetting what had happened. Forgetting about The Bear Pit. Forgetting about him. ‘Her face is a little banged up, which is why she hasn’t given any interviews. The show decided to keep the details from the public.’ 

‘I'm not surprised,’ Davos said. ‘If they knew the two of you had been meeting up there would be a riot.’ 

They spoke a little more, before Davos was called back to his delivery and he bade Jaime goodbye. 

He didn’t ask him what he was doing here. Jaime would miss this place and Davos. He knew he wouldn’t be able to come here again. 

He walked to the bench him and Brienne had sat on while he'd confessed the show was a scam. He wondered about what would have been had Cersei not existed. He would have done the show because his father always got his own way in the end and Jaime had really only been fighting because of Cersei anyway. He hadn’t wanted to marry anyone else. (He almost wanted to laugh at the thought now.) He would still have needed an escape. Still have passed by Oathkeeper in this very car park, still have been caught looking at it. Him and Brienne would have met. Everything would be pretty much the same, except Brienne might not have driven off from him quite so many times. 

But the outcome would still be the same. The public would have chosen to get rid of her, over Sansa and whatever woman had replaced Cersei (probably). Brienne just hadn’t quite been enough to override the public figures these people had grown up reading gossip about. 

He had to stop thinking about her. She was out of his life, for good. There would be no meeting up for lunches as friends. He wouldn’t be able to do it. He imagined he'd beg Brienne for her love the moment he saw her, ask her to run away with him. 

She wouldn’t. And any feelings she had for him would probably melt away if she knew he was already considering being disloyal to Cersei. Brienne would think him fickle. 

No. He needed to be someone deserving of Brienne, but if he couldn’t be with her, then he needed to be that guy for Cersei. It was what he’d always wanted after all. 

‘Goodbye Brienne Tarth,’ Jaime said into the cold empty air, before getting up from the bench and walking away from The Bear Pit. 

* 

Jaime hadn’t ever really thought about his stag party. His focus had always been on the wedding, on the marriage. Not on the night before. 

But if he had thought about it, he wouldn’t have predicted this. Sitting around in a house he'd spent a total of 60 hours in, tops, with his brother, his bodyguard, Bronn and Pod. His father had cried off, saying that he would have to take the entire Saturday off for the wedding, he couldn’t take the Friday off as well. 

Jaime wasn’t bothered. If anything, it would have put rather a damper on things. He very much doubted Tyrion would be up on the table, demonstrating his drunken impression of Elvis if their father was here. Bronn was crying with laughter, Pod was bright red as his boss thrusted in his general direction and even The Hound was cracking a smile. 

‘You’re up next Pod,’ Bronn said, clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. 

‘No thanks,’ Pod said, reaching for the his bottle of beer and taking a few mouthfuls. Empties lay all over the floor. They'd only been here for two hours, but the rest of the guys seemed to feel that their drinking had been restrained for the past six weeks and were making up for lost time now. Jaime was only on his third bottle. For some reason, he didn’t feel like getting drunk would be a good choice tonight. Even the amount he'd already consumed was making him sad instead of happy, tired instead of energized. 

‘Ah, come on,’ Bronn said, reaching over the table to grab Pod's groin area, and making Pod squirm out of his seat. ‘You need to make sure that instrument gets its proper workout. You’ve got a reputation to uphold. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the ladies now would you.’ 

Pod flushed a bright red and took another swig of beer. The Elvis song had come to an end and Tyrion climbed down from the table, staggering a little. Jaime watched him. His brother sustaining a drunk injury would be the icing on top of the cake. The make up team were already going to have a hissy fit tomorrow when they saw the state four of the guys were in. 

‘Petyr must be having a field day,’ Jaime said. He titled his head to the side a little trying to decide if The Hound had actually just tried to pull off a little shimmy to the start of the rock song now playing or if he was going crazy. ‘This will provide hours of content for the website.’ 

Bronn snorted. ‘Petyr isn’t watching this,’ he said, pointing to one of the cameras on the wall, there to capture Jaime’s every move. ‘There’s no red light; we're not being recorded.’ 

‘What?’ Jaime asked stupidly. He thought the cameras were always on. Petyr had told him his stag party would be filmed. He was sure he had. 

But then, that had been a couple of weeks ago now. 

‘I doubt the cameras have been on in here since the first night,’ Bronn said. ‘Petyr’s not about to waste money on them, not to film an empty house. And what interest are you to the public now? Nah, they only care about the women. You were the big name to draw the viewers in, and get everyone talking but you could literally be anyone now.’ 

Jaime thought he'd be a little stung by that. Hadn’t he wanted to be the Jaime Lannister he was before Aerys. He'd wanted the public to talk about him like they had before, even if what they said wasn’t good. 

But maybe not being the centre of attention was best. He'd lived that life, and now, thinking about it, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to it. Constantly being judged and picked up on every little thing. His suits being picked apart in newspapers, people wondering why he'd stopped attending every party ever thrown. 

‘Don’t I feel loved,’ Jaime said, but a small smile tugged at his face. Maybe fading into the background wasn't as big a deal as he thought it was. Maybe it was a good one. 

‘You're getting married to the love of your life tomorrow,’ Tyrion said, hiccuping slightly as he reached for another bottle of wine. (Beer wasn’t good enough for him.) ‘If you're not feeling the love tonight I'd probably rethink a few things....sorry.’ He caught Jaime's eye and grinned sheepishly. ‘I promised not to say anything, and I'll be good I promise.’ 

‘Just think,’ Bronn said, glancing at his watch. ‘This time tomorrow you and Cersei will be heading out to your honeymoon in The Maldives . Just you, your new wife and a five star hotel. You'll be a broken man when you come back.’ 

Jaime frowned. Something wasn’t right about that. He knew the honeymoon had been a bit of a sore spot between Petyr and Tywin. The public had been voting online since the start of the show to pick one of four honeymoon destinations Jaime and his new bride would be jetting off to. 

Petyr had been planning to give them a package deal holiday, from whatever company he could find to sponsor the show. A honeymoon package, but not anything too luxurious or expensive. 

Tywin had put his foot down. His son wouldn’t be caught anywhere near a three star hotel, or flying economy, or sightseeing in somewhere as plain as Paris. No, it was a high end honeymoon Jaime needed, and Tywin had put the money up himself to ensure his name wouldn’t be tarnished by his son having a slightly less than the best holiday. 

Instead of Paris, St Lucia, Florida or Rome, the honeymoon choices had changed to The Maldives, Fiji, The Seychelles, or a private island escape. All five star hotels with excellent reviews and staff to wait on Jaime and Cersei the entire two weeks they were there. 

Jaime had always been under the impression him and Cersei would be honeymooning in Fiji. He'd always secretly wanted to stay at the hotel under the sea. It was his insistence that Fiji be one of the choices, and he'd paid Bronn a little extra to ensure it would win the vote. Cersei had never cared where they honeymooned, she was just happy with a free holiday. 

‘I thought we were going to Fiji,’ Jaime said. He had paid Bronn extra hadn’t he? It seemed like such a long time ago when they'd sat making plans, drawing up a contract that wasn’t legal. 

He had. Because Bronn had looked at the hotel online and said that it was impressive and that he’d like to visit one day too, and that if he could ever save his money up instead of pissing it away, he would book himself a little holiday. 

Jaime was paying him a lot for his services, but not enough that Bronn could afford to drop almost twenty grand on a one week holiday. 

Yes, Jaime remembered now. Of course they were going to Fiji. Thee hotel was constantly reserved and they'd had to do some serious talking to get their room booked. It had all been planned months ago. 

‘You were,’ Bronn said casually reaching for a another bottle of whatever was nearest. ‘Plans change.’ 

‘Plans do not change when I'm paying you to make them,’ Jaime said. The music had finished whatever playlist Tyrion had put on and silence descended on the room. 

Jaime had been through a lot these past six weeks, and dammit if there was one thing he was going to make sure didn’t change. 

‘I don’t know what you want me to say,’ Bronn said, shrugging. ‘The hotel called and said they needed to make other arrangements. The reservation had been let go to someone else and since you weren’t first on the list anyway and they bumped someone else for you, they said they didn’t see what the problem was. Anyway, you'll have a great time in The Maldives.’ 

Jaime stared at him. 

‘If it’s the money you're worried about, I'll pay you back,’ Bronn offered casually. 

Even Tyrion did a spit take. Bronn had never offered to pay anyone back for anything. Even if he forgot to do something or something outside his control had happened, he always kept the money, talking his way around the unhappy customer. 

‘Where are you and what have you done with Bronn Blackwater?’ Tyrion asked. Pod and The Hound excused themselves, almost tripping over each other in their haste to get to the toilet the fastest. 

‘Don’t be a twat,’ Bronn said. ‘I just can’t be bothered to argue about this. Nothing I can do.’ He shrugged again. 

‘Speaking of holidays you still haven’t told me where you’re disappearing off to after tomorrow,’ Tyrion said. He turned to Jaime. ‘Bronn here apparently has had a business offer he can’t turn down. He’s leaving for two weeks on Sunday.’ 

‘Is that so?’ asked Jaime. He was trying to connect the dots in his head, but the alcohol was starting to take effect and his brain was a little sluggish. Bronn leaving had to be linked to Jaime's fantasy holiday crumbling but he couldn’t work out how. Bronn didn’t have the money. 

‘I have a life outside you fuckers you know ‘ Bronn said. The music kicked in again, but Jaime didn’t want this conversation to end. He had to talk to Bronn more...find out...there was something...'and may I ask why since the cameras are turned off we have to have the worlds crappiest stag in this house? We could have had a better time at the hotel.’ 

‘Ah, yes,’ Tyrion said, ‘but last time we all got drunk at the hotel the staff refused to clean up after us, and word got back to father and to Petyr about the bill for the damage and I refuse to sit through both of those two hour lectures about responsibility and controlling my friends again.’ He took a swig from his glass. 

There was a loud crash and everyone looked up, Jaime more alert because of the previous week. If someone had come to try to take him out again.. he wasn’t very well protected. Even his bodyguard was drunk. 

‘No worries,’ shouted a disgruntled Pod, and there was a great laughing sound that must have been coming from The Hound. 

‘What happened?’ Tyrion called back and there was silence for a moment. 

‘Pod fell off the toilet!’ yelled The Hound and Jaime sighed and sat back down. One more day. One more day and he'd be out of here. 

And in The Maldives, apparently. 

* 

Jaime had been told that he'd be allowed a lie in on Saturday, since Sansa and Cersei were the priority. Which was why he was surprised and groggy and a little bit pissed off when there was a banging on the door at 6.30am. 

He left it for a couple of minutes, hoping one of the others would get there before him. He knew the other four had stumbled out somewhere else last night, talking about nightclubs they knew, and where they'd be able to get it, but he had chosen to stay in the house and try to get some sleep. He'd heard the rest of them come back in at around 4am, but he was pretty sure none of them had made it upstairs. 

When the knocking sounded again, he groaned, stumbling his way downstairs. Bronn was passed out on the staircase, his leather jacket spread over his legs. He glimpsed Tyrion and Pod in the living room both of them on the floor, their mouths open as they snored gently. The Hound was nowhere to be seen but Jaime only had a limited view from the hallway. 

He blinked when he opened the door. Standing there was a team of make-up artists, all of them dressed in black with giant black cases standing next to them. 

‘Petyr said you might need a lot of help today,’ said the woman in front. She looked Jaime up and down. ‘I assume your friends are in there?’ she nodded her way into the house and Jaime stepped back to let them all in. Petyr might be difficult but he knew what was needed. 

Flashes of memory from last night were replaying themselves to Jaime as he came back to himself more and more. There were squeals and screams coming from the living room as the team set up their things. Jaime could hear them talking about high coverage foundation and under eye cream, their words blurring together in Jaime's hungover state. 

He shouldn’t have done it. He should have gone to bed like he'd intended once the others had left. 

But he'd had to. He'd had to check Brienne's social media one more time, just to see if anything had changed. She'd been out almost a week and there had been radio silence. He knew because of her face she wouldn’t be posting selfies like the others had done, but he also knew she wouldn’t be allowed to get away with not posting. 

Checking her social media was becoming slightly addictive. As was checking her hashtag on twitter and seeing who was still talking about her. Jaime wished he could do the same. He was desperate to talk to somebody about Brienne, about how much she meant to him and how he'd lost her and had to let her go. 

But there wasn’t anyone. Pod would listen and maybe offer advice, Bronn would be uncomfortable as would The Hound and Tyrion would once again see this as a chance to try and break Jaime and Cersei up. But Brienne didn’t want to be with Jaime, and he couldn’t not be with anyone. 

He'd been stunned to see Brienne post on her Instagram. With a long caption, one he just knew she hadn’t written, even if he had only skimmed it because he was too busy looking at her face in the photo above. She'd posed so her smooth cheek was facing the camera, wearing a blue veil skimming half her face. She'd been wearing no make-up, so her freckles were visible for everyone to see, even if she had tried to cover them slightly with a filter. Her nose looked more bent than ever from the side view. 

But it was her. It was a photo of her at her father’s studio. She hadn’t been forced to pose for it. 

She really was fine. 

Jaime had to accept her moving on and away from him. And he did. But a bottle of Tyrion’s fancy wine snagged from the table and drunk in the tiny bed while staring at Brienne's face had made him accept it so much easier. 

He wished he could one more look at her page before he threw himself into today, but he couldn’t risk it, not with so many people around. He'd said goodbye to Brienne. 

Now he actually had to do it. 

Slowly he walked into the living room, cracking a smile at the group of women gathered around Pod, each of them eyeing him with curious expressions on their face. Somebody would be having a good night. 

‘Are you excited?’ said a voice behind him, and Jaime turned to see another woman, cleaning her brushes behind him on the kitchen table. ‘There’s a real buzz around the office. It’s show day.’ She glanced up at his face ‘You look like you're about to throw up.’ 

Jaime swallowed. This wasn’t going to do. He had to be excited. And nervous. He had to be Jaime Lannister, at least for one more day. 

‘I blame the hangover,' he said, moving a little further towards her. ‘Tell me; will your magic be able to work, even on a middle aged man with the world’s worst hangover?’ 

‘Our magic,’ the woman said, snapping her case shut and looking him in the eye, ‘works on anyone.’ 

Jaime didn’t know why, but that single sentence made him feel a little better. He could use a little magic right about now. 

* 

‘Only an hour to go,’ Tyrion said, as he let himself into the room Jaime was being kept in. They'd arrived at the wedding venue about two hours ago, and run through how things would work three times since then. It wasn’t a big wedding, just Jaime’s five F&F on one side, and the families of the two remaining contestants on the other. 

Out there, just down the hallway were the Starks and Cersei's twins. He wondered how the twins were feeling about potentially gaining a step-father and then felt guilty that he hadn’t wondered that before now. He was going to be a figure in their life from now on. Shouldn’t he have spent more time thinking about the kids? 

Never mind. He'd have a lifetime to get used to it. 

‘You look handsome,’ Tyrion said, staring up at Jaime. ‘I never thought I'd see the day. My big brother, looking all respectable.’ He came to stand next to Jaime, both of them staring at their reflection in the full length mirror hanging from a wall opposite them. ‘We make quite a pair, don’t we?’ 

‘How are the women?’ Jaime asked. ‘Have you seen them?’ He'd wondered about them on and off all day. There wasn’t a lot else he could focus on his mind on while having to sit still and have his face prodded and poked about so he'd turned his thoughts onto the contestants. All of them. 

‘They arrived about half an hour ago, and are being kept in a small barn just a pathway away from here. I'm not sneaking anything out to Cersei,’ Tyrion said. ‘There’s too many cameras around.’ Jaime stared blankly for a second, before conversations from years past came to his mind. He'd always told Tyrion that he'd like to get his bride a little something just before she walked down the aisle. A little keepsake, just so she'd know he was always thinking of her. 

Jaime hadn’t been thinking only of Cersei for weeks now, and his gift getting idea had completely slipped his mind. 

‘I don’t have anything for her,’ he said. He was giving her the rest of his life. That would have to be enough. Tyrion gave him a weird look, but true to his word didn’t say anything. 

‘If you're interested, Cersei is floating around bossing everyone around and demanding she have her make up touched up every thirty seconds. Sansa is sitting quietly, stroking the dress, which is very beautiful. About 13 of the other women are attending a viewing party at the hotel right about now. They've posted photos online and all look to be having a great time, even if they have been diplomatic about not saying who they want to win.’ 13 women. 2 remaining contestants. Which left 5 of the previous ladies unaccounted for. 

But it didn’t matter. Because for once Jaime was going to listen to his own brain, and not ask the question he was dying to. 

‘It’s finally all ending,’ Jaime said, still staring at his reflection. He stroked the smattering of stubble over his chin. Petyr hadn’t made him shave, saying the stubble made him look a little better and added something to him that a clean shave didn’t quite have. ‘Six weeks have all been leading here.’ 

‘Thirty years you mean,’ Tyrion said. ‘What does it feel like to get everything you've ever wanted?’ There was a sudden smattering of music from outside, the string quartet warming up and Jaime jumped, pulling his mind back to the room, back to today. Back to Cersei. 

‘It feels like I've always wanted it to,’ Jaime said, turning away. There was chattering coming through the door now, and he longed to be able to see who was arriving. 

‘Good,’ Tyrion said. ‘I am happy for you, brother.’ 

‘I'm happy for me too,’ Jamie said, and if he sounded as flat and toneless as he thought he had, he was grateful Tyrion hadn’t mentioned it. 

‘Oh, I forgot to say,’ Tyrion said. ‘Bronn did hijack your holiday.’ 

‘What?’ Jaime stared at his brother blankly for a few seconds before last nights conversation about his honeymoon filtered back to him. The Maldives. Not Fiji. ‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Last night, when we went to a club, after some stupid comment, Pod had enough and grabbed Bronn’s phone from him. I almost cracked a rib from laughing so much as I watched them chase each other around the table, but Pod is a lot quicker than I would have thought. He managed to get into Bronn's phone and read a couple of Bronn's texts before he was pinned to the ground and made to beg for mercy.’ 

‘And what did they say?’ Jaime asked. 

‘Well, one of them was from our dear friend Ros, and if I have to repeat that I might actually throw up, but another one of them was from the hotel in Fiji, confirming that Bronn was okay to change the booking to his name and they hoped he’d have a fantastic two week stay with them. He did say he's always wanted to stay there,’ Tyrion mused. ‘And I guess we have to hand it to him, it's a genius idea. Hijacking your reservation so he doesn't have to wait years for his own.’ 

‘How is how affording it?’ Jaime asked. Tywin was only paying for Jaime‘s honeymoon. He wasn’t going to pay out for a holiday for Bronn. 

Bronn might be a gifted hacker, but Jaime knew his back story. He wasn’t the kind who hacked into banks and moved money around, or who wanted to find out the world’s secrets and expose them. Bronn's job in the Lannister company was to dig up dirt on other business, but not to blackmail them with it, just to provide Tywin with information he could Tywin could use as an opening to wiggle his way into. Bronn earned the rest of his money by offering his services to rich businessmen who wanted their private secrets kept secret. Being blackmailed by an ex-mistress who was going to call your wife and show her the texts and videos? Bronn would get into her phone and wipe it. Was a story about you acting a little naughty about to hit the presses? Whoops, that journalists computer had just come down with a nasty virus, corrupting the files. Needed to wipe your old social media profiles before some random on Twitter pulled up all the unacceptable language you'd used? That account no longer existed. Wanted to hack the phone lines on a reality dating show to ensure the person you wanted to win, won? Bronn was who you called. 

But Bronn, who had grown up poor, and had got into computers because he was smart and knew that’s where the money would come from, not because he was interested in them, was also a terrible spender. He wanted to be the big I am on nights out, flashing the cash to get the girls. Almost as soon as he earned money it was gone again, and Jaime knew Tyrion had invented a few jobs in the past just so that he'd have an excuse to give Bronn money. Bronn would never ask for it of course, and he always made sure he had enough to keep a roof over his head and food on his table. 

But thirty grand hotels weren’t the kind of thing Bronn would think could ever be in his remit. 

‘Maybe he's been saving,’ Tyrion said, absent mindlessly, checking his phone for a second. ‘I know he's not great with money, but maybe you bringing up the hotel put the idea in his head. He's had at least six months to save. And we are paying him quite a bit.’ 

‘Not that much,’ Jaime said. Bronn wouldn’t have saved up for this. And anyway, he hadn’t mentioned anything about the honeymoon changing until last night, trying to slip in the location change casually during the drunken evening. 

Which meant this grand sum of money had to have come from somewhere. 

And recently. 

‘How long until the show starts?’ Jaime asked. The first part of the show wasn’t live, but he didn’t want to risk it. Thoughts and ideas and plans were swimming around his head and he had to know. He had to speak to Bronn. ‘Where’s Bronn?’ 

‘Thirty five minutes,’ Tyrion said consulting his watch. ‘And I don’t know. He was somewhere out in the grounds trying to chat up the make up team. Jaime, what are you doing?’ Tyrion called out, as Jaime raced from the room. ‘If Petyr catches you!’ But Tyrion’s voice faded as Jaime ran as casually as he could so as not to attract so many weird stares on his way outside. He had bigger things to worry about than the wrath of Petyr Baelish. 

Because if his mind had connected the dots, and if Brienne had paid Bronn this stupid sum of money to make sure she was voted out (and Jaime had been so down and depressed he hadn’t even thought to wonder if it had been something other than the public choosing the wrong person), that had to mean something right? 

It might only have been a few weeks, but Jaime knew Brienne Tarth. And if she didn’t care, really truly had no feelings other than a crush or friendship for him, she would have taken it on the chin to spare Sansa another week here. 

So if she had walked away, not knowing Jaime had changed his mind, not knowing she was the one Jaime wanted to marry.... 

Jaime ran a little faster. He needed to find Bronn. 

* 

‘She paid you, didn’t she?’ Jaime gasped the words out between breaths. It had taken a long time to find Bronn, sulking as he was around the very back of the building, having a sneaky cigarette while Pod stood on guard duty. ‘Brienne. She paid you to make sure she was out of the contest.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Bronn said, taking a smoke and blowing it into the cloudless night sky. ‘She did. Took you long enough to figure it out.’ 

‘Were you ever planning to tell me?’ Jaime asked. He could tell from Pod's bright red face that the young man had been in on it too. The day they went to see her, they must have planned the whole thing out. Jaime felt a dart of hurt that they'd all kept it from him. 

Bronn shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t have made much difference. She paid me a sum of money I couldn’t turn down, and I knew you had some crazy scheme up your sleeve. You said you wanted to talk to me, remember? Once you got out of the hospital. I knew what you would have said if I'd told you.’ 

Jaime would have told him not to do it. Jaime would have offered him more than Brienne to not do it. Because Jaime was selfish. 

And he would have left the two women he'd loved in this contest until the end, waiting for the public to pick one so he wouldn’t have to. His inability to give up his dreams of Cersei had cost him Brienne. 

He really didn’t deserve her. 

‘I want her number,’ he said, turning to Pod. ‘Brienne’s. I know you must have it. I need to speak to her.’ 

‘You're about to be married to another woman,’ Pod said and although it was gentle, there was a rod of steel Jaime had never heard in his voice before. ‘I'm not giving you her number just so you can upset her.’ 

‘I don’t want to upset her,’ Jaime protested. ‘I want to ask her why she did it.’ 

‘Why do you think?’ Pod asked, quietly. ‘You’re not a dumb man Mr Lannister. She did it because if she hadn’t, she'd be the one in Sansa's place right now. Standing, wearing a wedding dress she'll never get married in. Except when she was driven away from the wedding, she wouldn’t have been filled with joy at finally escaping. She'd be driven away from watching the man she loves marry someone else.’ 

‘You think she loves me?’ Jaime asked, his heart leaping with hope. If Pod could see it...he didn’t know what he had done to deserve Brienne's love but he also wasn’t going to look at it too closely. If he had it, that would be enough for him. 

‘You know she does,’ Pod said. ‘Brienne means a lot to me. I like you, Jaime I do. But please, don’t do this to her.’ There was a voice, calling Jaime's name from far away. An angry voice. 

He glanced at Bronn's watch, shocked to find there were only eight minutes until nine o clock. Eight minutes till the show started. 

‘I just want to speak to her,’ Jaime said. 

‘No.’ The single word was spoken with defiance. ‘You've signed a contract, promising the world a wedding. In thirty minutes you are going to be getting married to Cersei. Don’t bring Brienne back into this.’ 

Pod was right, Jamie knew. He had to go through with the wedding. He was too far down the path to get away from it now. 

He jumped as the yelling voices came closer. Any minute now, they'd come around the corner and find him. He was sweating from running all over trying to find Bronn. He knew his eyes were wild and crazed. 

And he knew there was nothing he could do. Pod was right. He had to marry Cersei, and once he did that there would be no going back. Cersei wouldn’t let him out. 

Bronn was tapping away on a small tablet. ‘It’s all going to plan,’ he said, blowing a perfect smoke ring. ‘Cersei is going to win this thing by a mile, and I don’t even have to do anything.’ He flashed the screen around to show Jaime a bunch of codes and signals and other stuff Jaime didn’t understand. 

‘If you can see the voting now, on that thing, why did you need all the computers?’ he asked. To have his hope’s built one last time only for them to shatter so thoroughly on the floor had wounded him. The world seemed to have fallen quiet. The gentle hum of insects had died away. The night sky was no longer inky but dull, and the air was cold even though it had been balmy before. 

‘I told you,’ Bronn said, shoving the tablet away in his pocket as a group of people marched around the corner. ‘It was for the drama.’ 

* 

They'd picked a beautiful place to hold the wedding. A small barn, in a small field, with flowers of all different types growing around the outside. There was a little stone wall that paved the path from the place the wedding would take place, over to where the reception would normally be held (Jaime and Cersei would not be having a reception. It would be kind of difficult with just their small pool of friends and family here to support them. Jaime had heard the crew would be making use of the room after the wedding to celebrate the end of the first season.) Fairy lights had been wrapped around every available surface, and ivy and white flowers dangled from the beams inside the building. 

The only smear on the perfect backdrop, was the bright white curtain separating the aisle down the middle. Jaime, who had been frog marched to his half of the aisle after having been escorted back to his waiting room to have his make up fixed and to be gutted out by various people could only see his five F&F on his half of the room. He knew there were camera men all around, staying to the walls and that Petyr was lurking around somewhere. He knew on the other side of the curtain sat his soon to be step children. 

He imagined that outside the Starks were probably having a tearful reunion with their eldest daughter, before they'd all be shoved in a car and sent to the hotel to join the other previous contestants there. 

He knew he ought to be excited. This was all he'd ever wanted after all. They had pulled it off. After thirty years, they could and would finally be together. 

Jaime felt numb. 

Brienne had paid Bronn to take her out of the contest. His mind seemed unable to grasp any other fact, to register any other details. It was only at Tyrion standing up on his bench and gesturing at Jaime to face the front and smile, that he even realised the wedding music was playing. Cersei would be walking down the other side of the aisle right now. The voting was over. People all over the country were either feeling flat or were overjoyed with the result. 

Jaime wondered how many viewers this episode would get. 

The music stopped, and in one second the curtain had dropped and Jaime was staring into deep green eyes he knew as well as his own. 

For one second, one shivering, shiny second, he honestly believed he could do this. His old instincts reared up, his old feelings for one final time as he met Cersei's gaze, and it was almost like he could see their future together playing out before him... 

And then he dropped his gaze to take in the dress she was wearing, and as the vicar started his speech, Jaime realised something else about the blue of Sapphire around the hem of the wedding dress and the blue of Brienne's eyes and how they weren’t quite the same shade, and the next thing he was knew, he was stepping away, and shaking his head, and stumbling out ‘I’m sorry, I'm so sorry.’ 

And then he was running because he had to tell Brienne what he'd realised and because he didn’t want to be with Cersei, not now he knew what else was out there, and he wasn’t going back, not because Cersei was screaming at him, or because Petyr was yelling, or because some cameraman tried to stand in his way or because Tyrion was wolf whistling. 

Brienne’s address was burned into his memory from her information sheet that had sat on the hotel coffee table for five weeks, and he knew she would be there because she still wasn’t allowed to be seen in public with her scarred cheek. 

Jaime rushed into a waiting car, not caring that Sansa and the Starks (who had been crying and hugging each other as he streaked past them) were all peering at him, not caring that this car was intended for her. 

He gave Brienne’s address to the driver, who after looking at Jaime for a second, nodded his head and pulled away from the curb. 

Jaime didn’t look back. 

He had something to look forward to, now.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! 
> 
> Thank you for being so patient. There will be one more chapter after this, a kind of epilogue thing, so I'll save my gushing for then. 
> 
> Enjoy :):)

‘Your eyes,’ Jaime said, as Brienne swung the door open. ‘They’re not the same colour as the Sapphire blue. It’s a very slight difference. But your eyes are a shade lighter.’ 

The notes Brienne had clutched in her hand ready to pay an expected delivery driver, fluttered to the floor. 

Jaime Lannister was leaning against her door frame, talking about her eyes. Brienne scanned him quickly, trying to put a story together, but her brain kept short circuiting and then she’d have to start again. Jaime Lannister couldn’t be at her door. He was supposed to be getting married. 

Brienne had gone back to sleep after the phone call with Sansa this morning, although sleep seemed a loose term for the tossing and turning she’d done. She’d finally gotten up, and walked around her house, covering up every clock she could find. She didn’t want to watch the hours tick down. Didn’t want to sit on her sofa, wondering what Jaime was up to at that very second. 

It hadn’t helped much. She’d still wondered about him. Thought he was probably being made over as she made a lunch she didn’t eat much of. Thought about him being driven to the barn where the wedding was to take place as she read the same page of a book over and over, not taking in a single word. 

Her estimations had assumed the wedding should be taking place right about now. She could have been an hour over and under, but Brienne had always had a good internal clock, and she knew she wasn’t that far out. 

Which didn’t explain why Jaime was standing on her doorstep. He was in his wedding suit, she could see that. A blue tie had been loosened around his neck and his sleeves were pushed up. Make-up that Brienne knew needed to be removed with vigorous scrubbing was visible on his face. His hair looked a little wind swept, like maybe he’d been pushing his hand through it. 

But it still didn’t make any sense. 

‘You’re supposed to be getting married,’ Brienne said, but she automatically moved backwards when he made to come in through the door. She closed it behind him. 

Now Jaime Lannister was in her home. She gave him another once over, this time trying to be subtle as she sought out his third finger on his left hand. It was partially obscured by his suit jacket, but she was pretty sure no brand-new shiny ring glinted there. Which helped ease one of her suspicions; she’d been a little worried that Cersei was waiting downstairs in a car, the newly married couple just about to jet off on their honeymoon, but Jaime overcome with this realization about her eyes had just had to share it with Brienne this very second. 

Jaime ignored her statement, but took a step closer to her. Brienne bristled, before realising what it was he wanted to get a closer look at. She turned her face to the side, showing him the injuries. The swelling was going down, and the bruising was turning a greenish yellow, although she knew there would still be a few more weeks before the worst of the visual aspects calmed down enough for her to be seen out again. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaime said. He reached out a hand, almost like he wanted to brush his fingers down her face. 

But, even though a pretty big urge must have brought him to her door, he seemed to know this would be crossing a line, and he let his hand drop back down to his side. 

Brienne tried to ignore the disappointment that ripped through her. ‘I never wanted you to be hurt because of me. Because of my past.’ 

Brienne shrugged, like taking a dagger to the face was no big deal. 

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘The doctors think it will be healed in a few weeks. I’ll have a scar, but they’ve told me if needed I can probably cover that with plastic surgery.’ Her doctor had sent her a link to a website with all the information she could want, but she hadn’t looked at it yet. 

‘Still,’ Jaime said, and his hand twitched by his side. ‘People told me how bad the injury was, but seeing it for myself...I’m sorry.’ He looked like his entire world had just come crashing down, and Brienne knew she needed to tell him it was okay. That she should smooth the frown lines between his eyes, and talk about all the reasons why it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t made her jump in front of the dagger, that he wasn’t responsible for what Daenerys had done...but she had more pressing concerns. 

The comment about him getting married hadn’t raised a response out of him, so Brienne decided to change tack. Jaime was still staring at her face. 

‘You said something about my eyes?’ she asked. The question caught his attention, and he switched his gaze to hers. 

Brienne had to remind herself that she was strong, and that if this wasn’t what she hoped it was, if this was just because Jaime had gotten cold feet and had thought her his best escape, and at any moment would be dragged back to marry Cersei, she needed to appear unaffected. And not like just the sight of his eyes, eyes she hadn’t seen in a week, made her insides quiver. 

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I figured it out. Everyone always assumes that it’s your eye colour the Sapphire blue is based on, but it’s not, is it?’ 

‘No,’ Brienne admitted. She needed space. The hallway was big, but she felt boxed in by the walls either side of her. She turned, heading past Jaime into her living room. She could hear his footsteps behind her. 

Maybe she was going mad. Maybe Jaime wasn’t actually here, he was just a figment of her imagination. 

But Brienne had never been this imaginative. 

Being back in her living room made her feel more grounded. The light was on as it had been from early afternoon, the last time Brienne had looked at a clock. She didn’t want the evening sky to give her any hints about what time it was either, so she’d shut her blinds and put the light on even with the sun still burning bright outside. 

She searched Jaime’s hand again, now that she had a better viewpoint. She’d been right. There wasn’t a ring, although that meant very little. Perhaps it was only seven o clock. Cersei could be in a dressing room somewhere with Sansa, both of them nervous and giddy but for very different reasons. 

‘The Sapphire Blue is Gal’s eye colour,’ Brienne said. It was strange, but she’d never told anyone that before. Everyone always just assumed it was Brienne’s and her father’s eye colour. Nobody had ever bothered to look closer before. ‘After he died, my father wanted some way to keep him with us. If you think my eyes are noteworthy, you should have seen his.’ Gal had been known for his big blue eyes. There was something captivating about them. About the grey that seemed to lurking just underneath the clear blue, about how gold flecks seemed to sparkle if you looked close enough. He was always asked about if he wore contacts. ‘It’s why we love the brand so much,’ Brienne said. ‘We get to feel a little closer to him every day that colour is in our lives. And it feels a little like he’s helping us with it too. There’s still a piece of him with us.’ Silence filled the room, and Brienne felt her unease growing. She wanted to ask him what was going on. Why he was here when he was supposed to be with Cersei. Why him figuring this tiny piece of Sapphire out meant he had to come to her now, today, and confront her with it. 

But she also wasn’t sure she wanted the answers. 

‘I was looking for a shirt to remind me of you,’ Jaime said, suddenly. He wasn’t looking at her now. ‘The one I had before didn’t match, and I wanted something to keep with me.’ He swallowed. ‘But none of the ones I saw matched your eyes. I’ve looked at the Sapphire website practically every night before bed.’ 

He wanted to keep a piece of her with him. So he’d already said his goodbyes to her, in his head at least. 

‘How are you?’ Brienne blurted out. She thought about sitting on the sofa behind her, but she couldn’t make her limbs obey the fleeting thoughts in her head. Her mind was a constant loop of what is he doing here? What time is it? What is happening? ‘The attack was bad for you too.’ This was the first time they’d seen each other since that night. She’d hated having to walk away from him, but she’d known it was for the best. 

‘I’m okay,’ Jaime said, and there was something about saying he was okay, when he was standing in the living room of a woman he wasn’t supposed to be seeing again that brought a smile to Brienne’s lips. 

Neither of them were really okay. 

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked again, softer this time. It was surreal seeing Jaime in her home. His eyes kept flicking over to the few photos on the walls, or the books she’d left on her table where she’d thrown them aside, after trying to read them, or the array of gifts she hadn’t got around to moving yet, still lined up along one side of the room. He was trying to drink in everything about her. 

‘I wanted to see you,’ Jaime said. 

‘And you thought today was the time to do so?’ she asked. 

‘The day doesn’t really matter,’ Jaime shrugged. ‘I always want to see you.’ 

Brienne almost wanted to smile at that. Nobody had ever said something so nice to her, and she wanted to be able to appreciate it. But it was undercut by Jaime’s past and the fact that the day did matter, because it was Jaime’s wedding day. 

‘You didn’t come here just to tell me about Sapphire,’ she said, but he started talking at the same time. 

‘You paid Bronn to make sure you were eliminated from the contest,’ he said. 

That brought Brienne up, sharp. She hadn’t forbidden Pod or Bronn from telling Jaime, and she’d kind of assumed that they had. But there was hurt in his voice, fresh, new, like he’d only recently found out. ‘Didn’t you?’ he asked. 

She almost wanted to deny it, but she’d never been an outright liar, and she wasn’t about to start now. 

‘Yes,’ she said, and then added with a boldness she never thought she’d experience, ‘I thought I’d make your choice easier for you.’ 

There it was. The elephant in the room, the grenade lobbed with the pin out. They’d skirted around the issue before, and Brienne had confessed her feelings to others of course. But it was out there now; the acknowledgment that Brienne had been a choice. That there had been something between them, even if it was small, or one sided, or whatever it was. 

There was no hiding behind slick words and half-truths today. This wasn’t a dim bar with a spying barman. This wasn’t half way into a contest where there were still days to think things over.   
She knew she really hadn't been a choice; that Jaime was always going to stay with Cersei. But she'd believed he had feelings for her, and he was struggling with them. She'd removed herself from the contest to make both their lives a little easier.

‘Jaime why are you here?’ she asked again. ‘I don’t know what the time is. Is Cersei waiting at the venue, picturing your life together? Did you get cold feet and come to me, hoping for, what? That I’d confirm you’d made the right choice, staying with her? Do you want me to call you a cab so you can go back?’ The words were almost tumbling from her lips. But she was sick of this. Sick of playing games and not knowing and wondering and hoping. She‘d rather he’d tear the plaster off, rip it as hard as he could, tell her it had all been in her head and that he loved Cersei and always would and Brienne had made less than a dent on his life. 

At least then she could stop this desperate hoping feeling she was trapped in. 

‘I don’t want to go anywhere,’ Jaime said. ‘Pod told me you loved me.’ 

Brienne could feel the flush creeping up her neck, travelling to her cheeks and she knew she’d be a fantastic shade of red, possibly the best one she’d been yet in his presence. 

But screw it. What did it matter at this point? She’d basically just admitted as much anyway. And maybe Jaime deserved to know. 

‘So what if I do?’ she said, jutting her chin out, like a defiant child. ‘So what if I love you, Jaime? That doesn’t make me a bad, or sad person because I fell in love with you. It doesn’t make me weak or less of a person. You can tease me about it if you want, but you can’t help who you fall for, I think you of all people should know that. Why are you laughing?’ she snapped the last part, hating the grin that had risen on his face, and hating the she could feel the corners of her own mouth tugging up in response. This wasn’t funny. This was the furthest situation from funny you could get...and yet. 

Six weeks ago, Brienne had stood in this very place, staring out over the London streets below, wondering how much work she‘d have to catch up on after a week of radio silence. She’d text the people who’d be worried if they didn’t hear from her, telling them she’d be offline for a few days, and they’d probably find out why soon enough but that she couldn’t tell them anything else at the moment. She’d wondered about the other women she’d be competing against. She hadn’t really thought about the suitor, so certain was she that he’d have no lasting effect on her life.  
It was kind of hysterical if you thought about it. 

‘You love me,’ Jaime said, a sort of wonder lighting his face. 

‘Well there’s no point me denying it,’ Brienne said. ‘Since it seems like Pod’s been spilling all my secrets anyway.’ She toed the carpet, dropping her gaze. The adrenaline was starting to ebb from her body, and she felt a little silly about her outburst. 

‘For what it’s worth,’ Jaime said, and she heard him move forward till she was looking into his face as he drew her chin up so they could see each other. ‘I love you too.’ 

Brienne wished she could say it was a fairy tale moment. She wished she could focus on nothing but the green of Jaime’s eyes, the way they searched her face and seemed to find everything they were looking for. She wished she could say she mirrored his movements as his eyes fluttered closed and his lips pursed, and she wished she could enjoy the warmth spreading through her. Somebody was in love with her. She hadn’t really ever thought she’d get that. 

But Brienne was far too practical and far too consumed with all the other pieces of their lives to let that be the end of it. 

She took a step back, slipping her face from Jaime‘s grasp. She couldn’t go through with this, not when there were still too many unknowns. 

‘And what is it worth?’ she whispered. ‘You love me, and that makes me happier than you can know. But up until about ten minutes when you showed up my door, I also knew you were in love with someone else. What’s that worth?’ 

‘To be honest,’ Jaime said, his good hand tucking a strand of Brienne’s hair behind her ear, like he just couldn’t bear not to touch her now she’d sort of given him permission, ‘I was hoping my love would be worth you.’ 

‘And what about Cersei?’ Brienne asked. Jaime sighed a small soft sound, but he didn’t back away. He seemed like he was expecting it. 

‘Right now, I presume Cersei is being restrained by whoever Petyr had on duty tonight. Being left at the altar, I’m told, sucks. I can’t imagine how it feels to have it happen on national television, everyone watching as the groom bolts from his wedding.’ 

‘You left her at the alter?’ Brienne asked, her mouth dropping open. Cersei was hell trapped in a person, but she didn’t deserve that. The public wouldn’t know about her history with Jamie, what had led him to this decision tonight. ‘Everyone’s going to think you took one look at her and ran.’ 

Neither of them smiled at that. Brienne knew some of the other previous contestants would be having a great laugh, enjoying Cersei’s misery, but she’d had the rug pulled out from under her. Cersei would be a laughing stock, or else drowned in a pool of pity from strangers and friends alike. 

‘I know,’ Jaime said. He took a step back, and then flopped onto Brienne’s sofa, with his head in his hands. ‘And I don’t feel good about it. But I couldn’t go through with it. Not when I realised how I felt about you.’ Some thought came into his head, and he shook it away, like it was an annoying bug. ‘Well, a few other factors came into play, but something came over me, and I just knew I had to see you, had to tell you. Had to be with you.’ 

Brienne sat down on the sofa, and took his hand in hers. 

‘You know I’m going to need you to explain,’ she said. Her happiness at having Jaime here, and the words he’d told her tonight were being dampened down by all the other aspects she still didn’t understand. She couldn’t let anything happen with Jaime. Not until she was sure. Maybe it wasn’t fair for her to make him explain and tell his whole side of the story. He was obviously struggling as it was. 

But maybe talking would help both of them sort everything out in their heads. 

‘You already know that I've loved Cersei since I was young,’ Jaime started. His hand gripped hers back, although he was staring into the middle of the room, focusing on Brienne’s rug, rather than her face. ‘I’d like to say that she was a different person back then, but she wasn’t really any kinder or softer. She was determined, and focused, and she impressed me. She’d do whatever it took to get her way. She was a tornado, and I was grateful she spun me up around her instead of just leaving me behind. I felt like I could be my father’s son with her by my side - taking over the company wasn’t such a big deal, because she’d be with me, helping me to run it.’ Brienne leaned back on the sofa, letting Jaime’s words wash over her, but making sure to pay close attention to them. 

How could she compare to a tornado? She knew she had her good points, but Brienne wasn’t enough to compete with Cersei. 

So why was it seeming more and more like Jaime had chosen her, Brienne? 

‘When her and Robert got together, I tried to get over her. Threw myself into being Jaime Lannister, out all the time, smirking for the photographers, cocky and arrogant. It was so easy to be him. He had a good time each night, the press made him laugh with the headlines they published about his antics, and it was good to have people hanging onto your every word, even if the one person you wanted wasn’t there.’ He frowned a little. ‘I think that was probably the start of it. Maybe I did start to get over her a little. If we’d left each other alone, I probably would have moved on, but every time we saw each other, there was something that felt like it was forcing us together. She probably just wanted an escape from an unhappy marriage, and Cersei has always needed to be the most adored, the most loved. She couldn’t let me go, and I didn’t want to let her go.’ The low hum of the heating kicked it, and Brienne realised with a start that it was later than she thought. Her heating was set to come on at 11pm, so she’d always be guaranteed to come back to a warm house after spending the evening at a party. 

Jaime must have been telling the truth. He’d left Cersei at the altar. It wasn’t that Brienne hadn’t believed him before, but she hadn’t really been able to grasp the truth of it. 

‘As horrible as this will sound, she was also the one way I knew to defy my father. He hated us being together, and I couldn’t give up on her, because that would feel in some small way like he’d won. I was already going to be in the job he’d made for me, doing what he wanted me to do. Giving up Cersei felt like one point too many in his favour.’ 

‘So what’s changed?’ Brienne asked. She understood that Jaime and Cersei probably should have left each other alone a long time ago, but they hadn’t. They’d still wanted – or at least thought they wanted – to be with each other, up until a week ago as far as Brienne knew. 

‘Can’t you guess?’ Jaime asked, and he turned to her. ‘I never expected you to come into my life Brienne. I thought I knew what my life would be like - marriage to Cersei, staying out of her kids’ lives, spending my evenings with her, and being happy that I’d finally got what I wanted. But Cersei, for all that she is, isn’t a prize. I shouldn’t have tacked so much onto finally getting to be with her. I spoke to Tyrion about it, a few weeks ago, and he made me understand that getting Cersei was the thing I was looking forward to the most. Not actually being with her. Does that make sense?’ 

‘I think so,’ Brienne said, although she couldn’t really understand. Romantic relationships had always baffled her a little. Why Sansa had gone back to men who treated her like more of a thing than a person, even though everyone in her life begged her not to. Relationships were weird, and intense, and really only the two people in them had any idea what was going on, and why they were fighting so hard to be together. Brienne was starting to understand why people went back to each other, or made stupid, silly choices again and again. 

She‘d made some stupid, silly choices herself over these past six weeks. Just to be with Jaime for one more night. ‘You realised you no longer wanted to be with Cersei,’ she said. 

‘I realised that we weren’t still in love,’ Jaime corrected. ‘Tyrion made me see and understand that I hadn’t loved her, not for a long time. I think every time she gave me some excuse as to why we couldn’t be together yet, a little piece broke away until there was nothing left.’ He sighed. ‘But after the incident, I felt lost. I didn’t know who I was any more, and the public who had always been fans of me, turned on me. I was drowning, and Cersei gave me a lifeline to grab onto. If she could still want to be with me, in the way she always had, if she could treat me like nothing had changed...’ 

‘Then everyone else could too,’ Brienne mused. She was starting to feel a little sorry for Cersei. Jaime had put a lot of pressure on her, that she didn’t even know about and now he’d humiliated her in front of millions of people. 

Brienne knew Cersei would be alright – it would take more than this to break the woman, who no doubt at this very moment was hiring lawyers and a PR team to help her spin this into a victory, but still. It wasn’t a nice thing to have happened. 

‘Yes,’ Jaime said, like Brienne had grasped some hard question. It was her turn to sigh as things became clearer and clearer to her, but she suppressed it. Jaime needed to get this out. ‘But I realised that I’m not the same Jaime Lannister I was. That I don’t want to be either. I’ve changed into someone else. I’m still a little cocky, and arrogant that‘s true, but I care about more now than parties, or being seen at the new restaurant, or giving reporters a story.’ 

‘That’s good,’ Brienne said, squeezing his hand. 

This was all good. Jaime was coming to terms with himself and realising a lot about who he was as a person, and how the world viewed him. He was still evolving, and Brienne felt her heart ache a little that she might not get to see it. 

Jaime had realised he needed an out, not to marry Cersei. He knew once he went though with it, there would be nothing he could do to get away. Unconsciously, he’d bolted from his already doomed wedding, straight to Brienne, because he associated her with escape, and that was what he needed at that moment. It had been what she feared, but she felt a kind of settling calm come over her. She would let him go, as she must, and pick up her life. 

She knew him arriving at her doorstep was too good to be true. 

Jaime shifted a little on the sofa, gripping her hand even more tightly like he knew she was about to let go. 

‘You don’t seem overjoyed at me telling you all of this,’ he said quietly. ’I’m sorry I’ve made this big romantic gesture all about me, but you’ll have to learn to live with that I’m afraid. I’m not as selfish as I once was, but it’s a hard habit to break out of.’ The ghost of a smile flit across her face at his joking tone. He wasn’t selfish. 

‘I asked you to explain,’ she said. ‘And now you have.’ 

‘Barley,’ Jaime snorted. ‘You asked me to tell you why I came here.’ 

‘I know why you came here Jaime,’ she said softly. It was her turn to stare at her rug and not at his face. ‘You needed to escape.’ 

She let the words hang there. She wondered what his expression would be, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. Jaime had admitted that he didn’t always know his own mind, that he did things without thinking, that he never looked too closely. He might think he loved her, but he’d realise soon enough. 

‘Last week, while I was in hospital, I wanted to speak to Bronn,’ Jaime said, quickly. He obviously hadn’t finished his story. ‘I was going to ask him not to fix the vote, I was going to let the public choose which one of you I should end up with,’ he said. ‘I was a coward, and stupid, it’s true, but it was the only way I could think of at first; to let fate decide. And then I saw you. In that dress you wore to the premier, where you stood tall, and smiled and nobody could take their eyes off you.’ 

‘It was a good dress,’ Brienne said. 

‘And I realised I love you,’ Jaime said, his words coming quicker now. ‘That it had been you, possibly from the first time we met. I didn’t know at the time why I offered you a lift home, although I told myself I really was just being a knight. But that’s not true. There was something inside me, some instinct that made me need to know that you were okay, that called out for me to look after you. I know you don’t need looking after,’ Jaime said, heeding off the words Brienne had opened her mouth to say. ‘But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.’ 

‘Okay,’ Brienne said, because really what more was there that she could say? He believed this with all his heart, and nothing she said was going to change his mind. 

‘I love you, Brienne,’ he said, placing a finger under her chin and turning her so she had to look at him. ‘It might take me a while to realise a few things, but once I do, I know them for sure. After that episode, I was all ready to call Bronn and have him fix the vote, but this time so that you won. That wasn’t me needing an escape, then, and it isn’t now. I was planning to sit Cersei down and explain it all to her. Then you were voted off, and I felt like it was the universe telling me something. Stupid, I know.’ He shook his head, looking so downcast that Brienne’s heart went out to him. 

She believed him. He didn’t have a lot of reason to lie. And if she had just been an escape, she’d already given him the excuse he needed to leave. He’d been here for probably over an hour already. If madness had brought him here, something else was making him stay. ‘And then this evening, when I saw Cersei standing there, I thought for one second, maybe I could do it. But I knew as soon as I looked at the blue in her dress, that I couldn‘t. And not because I didn’t love her, but because of you. Because I wanted and still want you. Because I love you, and you can try all you like to talk me out of this, but one thing that hasn’t changed about me is how head strong I am. I’m willing to fight for what I want.’ 

She was expecting him to get up and pace, he sounded like he couldn’t keep his emotions in. But he sat with her, holding onto her, keeping her steady and anchored to him. 

If this was true... 

If she let herself believe for just a moment.... 

If she was wrong and it all came crashing down... 

There was still so much they needed to work on... 

‘If you need us to wait a few months to make sure that I’m really over Cersei and to see if we work outside of the contest, then I will,’ Jaime said, his eyes practically glowing with emotion. Emotion for her. ‘If you want to tell everyone we’re just friends and have those weekly lunch dates for a while, then I will. If you need me to try and make you love me as much as I love you, then I will. I get it. This is a bizarre situation, and I’ve had an extra five hours to fall in love with you.’ She gave him a questioning look. ‘I’ve seen you fight, and know how strong you are. If you need me to go into another boxing ring, I will.’ 

‘I’ve seen you fight,’ she murmured. ‘Well, not seen, but I know I wouldn’t have been able to keep Daenerys’s men away if it wasn’t for you. You’re strong too.’ She trailed a hand along his arm, resting the plan of her hand on his face. 

‘I’ve seen how much you love Oathkeeper, heard how much pride you take in her, know how attached you are,’ he said. Episode two, where her hated words of Jaime had faded into passion for their shared possession. 

‘That’s true for you too,’ she said. Oathkeeper had been in practically perfect condition when she’d brought it. She knew Jaime had struggled to go near the bike after his accident, but there wasn’t one bit of rust or dirt on Oathkeeper. Even in his misery, he’d ensured the bike was well cared for. ‘I know you only let it go because you didn’t feel you could give it the attention it deserved anymore.’ 

‘I know you share my interests in history and that we have the same taste, and budget for wine,’ he said, and Brienne gave a giggle. ‘I’ve seen how kind and good you are to people, how you make even the most down in the dumps person come out of their shell and make them feel better. I’ve seen how you treat people with kindness, even those who rarely get it, and I know how forgiving you are; you forgave The Hound after all. I’ve seen you hold your tongue to people who deserve to have hell ripped upon them, and I’ve seen you stick up for people when nobody else does.’ 

‘Pod did a great job talking you up,’ Brienne said, casting her mind back to that rainy day. Jaime’s compliments were making her blush, but she wasn’t worried about that at this moment. He had to know that he was all these things too, that she already knew all she needed to know about him. ‘I know you don’t feel like it always, but you’re good, your past proves that. You might be a little cocky but your also spirited and funny and a little bit soft,’ she said. 

‘I’ve seen you angry, and drunk,’ Jaime whispered close to her lips, and she nodded. She’d seen him those things too. ‘But I love all those parts of you.’ 

‘I love all your parts of you, too, Jaime,’ she whispered back. ‘You don’t have to try to make me love you. We both know I’m already there.’ 

It was difficult to take that leap. She knew fears and worries would plague her for a long time, but she’d just have to push them aside. It sounded like probably both of them could do with employing a good therapist. 

Maybe they should wait, at least for a little. But, really what would be the point? Everyone close to her had sussed it a long time ago, and it seemed the same could be said of Jaime. He’d waited thirty years for Cersei, just to realise they should no longer be together, and Brienne, who’d been so afraid she might never get this would be foolish to throw away even a couple of months, when it was being offered to her. 

Plus, the idea of being without Jaime, of not being able to touch him like she was now, of keeping a casual friendship in place of what she wanted to be doing killed her. She’d found it hard to keep up a friendly manner with Renly during her younger years, and Jaime was more than her first love had ever been. She knew doing that with Jaime would break her. 

‘I know people in your life will be mad,’ Jaime said steadily now. His hands were on her neck, and hers were around his face and she was drinking him in, in a way she’d never given herself permission to do before. 

‘They’ll come around,’ she said, knowing it was true. There were others out there who loved her, and she knew they’d be there for her, whatever the outcome. Maybe they’d be watching, and waiting, and she’d have to hear a thousand ‘I told you so’s,’ but she wasn’t going to think about that. 

She was finally, finally, going to think about Jaime Lannister. 

She reached for him with her face, taking the first step, because she knew he wouldn’t. The kiss was frantic and heated and she’d never felt anything like it, like a hot drink sliding down to her stomach, like fireworks exploding in her mind, like Jaime’s lips finally touching hers. 

* 

A shaft of moonlight fell through the gap in Brienne’s curtains, highlighting Jaime’s sleeping face on the bed next to her. In the pale glow, his face was leeched of all colour. He’d scrubbed the make-up from the show off, and Brienne could see the bags under his eyes, practically black in the shadows. These past six weeks had taken their toll on him too. She'd seen it in the fine sprinkling of grey hair by his temples, that she was sure had been covered up for the show but that she’d noticed earlier as she ran her fingers through it. More lines had crept onto his face as well, stretching from the corner of his eyes, or across his forehead. It was only now, relaxed as he was in sleep that Brienne noticed them. Now that she could stare at him as much as she liked, without worrying who was going to think what, or who she was betraying or how she was dishonouring herself. 

They’d moved to the bedroom a couple of hours ago, after they’d exhausted themselves with yet more talking, and a lot more kissing. They hadn’t gone any further tonight. Brienne didn’t want their first time together to be tainted by memories of events that should have happened on this day. Cersei’s presence was still hanging over them as well, and until Jaime had talked to her, and apologized, him and Brienne had made a firm rule that nothing else would happen between them. 

But that was okay. Brienne could wait a little longer. 

Jaime had borrowed one of her shirts, a plain white cotton t-shirt that actually hung a little long on him. Brienne had had to wonder what she’d done in a past life to deserve a half-naked Jaime Lannister in her life, and her worries had flared up again for a brief second as she took in his tanned, muscled legs. 

But then he’d smiled at her, grabbed her hand and kissed her goodnight and she let the voices fade away. They’d be back, she knew, but she’d get better at dealing with them. 

Jaime had fallen asleep straight away once he’d tucked himself under the duvet, but Brienne, even though she was exhausted from a whole week’s broken sleep, couldn’t seem to rest. 

Very quietly, so as not to disturb Jaime, she leaned over to her bedside drawer, slowly inching it open, before removing her phone from inside. She’d placed the mobile there earlier, so that she wouldn’t be tempted to check the time or look for updates on social media. 

Carefully, her body turned away from Jaime so that she’d hopefully block out the light of her screen, even though she wasn’t entirely sure that anything could wake him, she turned her phone on, waiting for it to load. She supposed that Margaery would have called and texted a few times. Probably Sansa as well, and a few of the other girls. She’d have to speak to them, and she doubted that on a night so filled with drama that any of them would be in bed yet. She could almost picture them in the hotel room, chatting about their theories and making wild guesses. 

What Brienne hadn’t expected was her phone to start endlessly vibrating. The thing was almost alive as text after text, voicemail after voicemail, social media alert after social media alert came through, all causing her phone to buzz and rattle in her hand. 

After what Brienne judged to be a solid five minutes, it finally settled and remained silent. She picked it up a little nervously, wondering what she would find. 

237 messages altogether. 27 voicemails. Hundreds of Twitter and Instagram notifications. 

She left the bedroom as quietly as she could, sitting herself on the sofa so she could listen to the messages. She’d get all the notifications out of the way first and then reply to whoever she needed to. 

Seven from Margaery, the first just thirty second of shrieking. The second a long rambling list of questions that Brienne barely had time to process before she had to pay attention to the next one. Three and four were pleads for Brienne to call her back, because Margaery had the most wonderful news, and didn’t Brienne want to hear it, unless of course she already knew in which case Brienne needed to call Margaery ASAP as Margaery needed to know. Five and six seemed to be a mixture of the other women begging for Brienne to call them, or to ask if she knew what had happened or to just check that she was okay. Seven seemed to be a pocket dial which consisted of a lot of the women badly singing Bruno Mars ‘Marry You’ before there was a ‘shit!’ and the dial tone. 

Sansa had left two messages, although she seemed much less excitable than Margaery had been, just asking for Brienne to call back once she got them, Brienne's father had left two voicemails as well, asking if she’d seen the show and the reaction online to the dress. Then he hesitated, and told her that he had been hearing some rumours and could she possibly call him back to clarify? Ygritte, Yara, Gilly, and Ellaria had left their own messages as well. Her agent had left a three second one of him asking for her to call him. Tyrion Lannister – at least she was pretty sure it was him – had left her an eight-minute voicemail of his laughter, before saying ‘if my brother is with you, my father would like it to be known that Jaime must check in AT ONCE! Personally, I think if my brother is with you, you two should have a wonderful night,’ before laughing again and hanging up. There was one from Pod, who stumbled over asking her if she’d seen Jaime and if so Tywin Lannister was looking for him, and also Pod may have done something stupid, and he hoped Brienne wouldn’t hate him. There was one message that was just the person hanging up and Brienne wondered if it was from The Hound. 

The last message was from Catelyn Stark. ‘Brienne, this is Catelyn. I’m sure you know that we’re at the wedding. Cersei won, and I’ve never been so happy...I’m sure you know this already, but just in case you don’t Jaime’s run off from the venue. The general feeling, or at least what I managed to get out of my daughter is that he may be heading to you. I know I’m not your mother, and I also know I don’t get to tell you what to do, so I’ll just say this. Be careful. Please.’ There was a pause, and in the background shouts and a woman yelling hysterically. ‘If you love him, that’s okay. I trust you.’ 

The automated voice told her ‘end of messages’ and Brienne put the phone down, feeling a little warm inside. So nobody seemed to know for sure that Jaime had come to her. It made her flat feel like a bubble. She knew it would burst as soon as the sun came up tomorrow, that Tywin Lannister would probably have people knocking down her door looking for his son. 

Her ear was warm, and she rubbed it, getting started on the messages. Most of them were variants of the voicemails she’d just heard, but there were several long ones from Margaery. It seemed before she’d decided to give over to the drink that was no doubt free flowing, that she‘d sat down and texted the live version of events to Brienne. Brienne settled herself down to read them all, deciding that maybe it would be better to contact people tomorrow, instead. 

Once Jaime had bolted, Cersei had thrown a fit. She’d chucked her bouquet to the ground, stamped on the flowers, pulled the wedding dress apart and screamed for all to hear about ‘his bloody cheek’ and that she, Cersei, hadn’t wanted to marry him anyway! The cameras, having nothing better to do had filmed her for a short while, but luckily had cut by the time Cersei was yelling like Jaime himself was still there, telling him how she no longer loved him and she’d only gone through with this sham of a marriage because she’d been doing him a favour. 

When the camera’s had come back, somebody had had a word in Cersei’s ear, and instead of the rage that was burning through her, she’d played herself off as a victim, tears streaming from her eyes as she hugged her confused children to her, crying ‘how could he do this to me? How?’ 

The Starks had been stranded at the venue, since it seemed Jaime had taken the car meant for them, and the wedding party had spilled out onto the outside as well once everyone realised there really would be no wedding, that Jaime wasn’t returning. Petyr and Tywin had apparently gotten into a screaming match, each of them threatening to sue the other before Petyr had left to do damage control. The show had switched to the hotel room where the previous contestants were being held, to ask them about their thoughts on what had happened, where Margaery had stressed in her messages that there was ‘nothing to worry about. Okay a couple of us may have hinted that Jaime had found someone else he wanted to be with during this process, but who could say for sure.’ 

According to Sansa, who most of this information had come from, Varys had bid the viewers farewell, telling them that details of how to apply for a refund would be available online shortly and that he hoped they’d enjoyed this season of The One. Tyrion had had to be held up by The Hound and Pod, as he couldn't contain his mirth, and Bronn had been spotted sneaking away into a waiting taxi. 

Tywin had walked around with his phone pressed to his ear trying to track his son down, and that was when everything went a little hazy. A party for the crew had been booked at the wedding venue, and Tyrion had decided it may as well go ahead, since the party had never intended to be celebrating a wedding anyway, so it wouldn’t be in bad taste. He’d arranged taxis to bring the girls from the hotel over to the venue, and extended the invitation to the Starks as well, who’d all agreed to come, since they were in such good moods. Tywin had left shortly after, and everyone else was having a grand old time. Cersei and her kids had disappeared as well, and nobody seemed to know where they’d gone, although somebody had said they’d seen them climbing into a car, with a scary looking dude in the driver's seat. According to this eye witness – who nobody could recall – the driver had been wearing silver rings. 

There was a rather threatening message from Petyr Baelish on her phone too, telling her in no uncertain terms that if he found out she’d been involved in this in any way, shape, or form he would make her pay for it. Brienne shrugged that one off. He couldn’t do much now the show was over and all the episodes had aired. They weren’t quite free of their contacts yet, but ways could always be found around that. After all, if he tried to paint her in a bad light, she’d just defend herself and call him out on social media. And if he wanted to play wars, she had a lot more stories about him than he had about her. 

With slightly trembling fingers, Brienne loaded her Twitter feed. Her eyes were starting to feel heavy now, and she knew she’d been staring at her phone for too long. The battery was almost dying, and she promised herself just a few more minutes. 

#TheOne What. The. Actual. Fuck? Did that really happen? 

#TheOne LMAO, Jaime took one look at Cersei and bolted. Can’t say I blame him, her reputation proceeds her. 

#TheOne If Jaime doesn’t want her, can I have her? 

There were thousands of messages, the #TheOne was trending, as were Jaime, Cersei, Sansa, Sapphire....and Brienne. 

This must be why her notifications were blowing up, and she clicked on her hashtag wondering if she wanted to know, but knowing that she’d have to face it sometime. A lot of them were messages, gushing about the wedding dresses and asking if they could have one for their own wedding.   
More of them, weren't. 

#Theone Whoa, wait, hold up...did Yara just imply that Jaime met someone else FROM the show while ON the show? My guess? #Brienne 

There were hundreds more like it, and it seemed that Yara had indeed slipped up, accidentally asking the public ‘well, really, why would Jaime want to be with Cersei when anyone can see that him and someone else would have been a perfect match? I guess he thought so too.’ 

#Theone, I hope Jaime’s gone to get someone who actually loves him! He deserves it! Go get your girl! 

#TheOne Am I the only one sad that Sansa didn’t win? I would have loved to see her family get her out of that. #thatsafightidlovetosee 

There were so many, and Brienne was growing tired. She quickly flipped to Instagram, while she made her way back towards the bedroom. She’d deal with all of this tomorrow. 

She only caught a glimpse of one photo – Sansa, standing in her Sapphire wedding dress, in the middle of the dance floor, grinning into the camera – before her phone died. It was probably for the best. 

She put it back in the drawer, then slid under the covers, holding herself still. She wasn’t really sure what to do. 

Luckily, Jaime took that decision out of her hands. He pulled himself closer to her, snuggled up against her chest, and chucked one of his arms over her body. 

‘You don’t mind if we cuddle?’ he asked sleepily. 

‘Of course not,’ Brienne said, burrowing herself further into the covers, and hoping Jaime was still too out of it to notice her thumping heart. This was weird, and warm, and happiness all rolled into one, and it would take some getting used to. ‘You remember where you are then?’ she asked. She’d wondered if he’d wake up, confused about where he was, wondering about the events of the day before. 

‘Of course,’ Jaime said, and Brienne’s heart stuttered at his next words before she let herself drift off to sleep in Jaime’s arms, ‘I’m with you.’


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it! The last chapter!   
> I have nothing really to say except THANK YOU. So much. For all your comments, for being here with me since May (?!) and being so excited for every update. Thank you for choosing to read a fic that turned into a monster. I hope the end is as good as you all deserve 
> 
> xx

One Year Later 

ONE-AWAY GROOM! Last night, at the supposed reality wedding of the year, the final episode of ‘Littlefinger’ Productions newest TV show ‘The One,’ shockwaves were sent through viewers, as they watched the suitor Jaime Lannister turned and ran from the winner of the contest. 

The One format has been running in the US for... 

The article went on to detail all that had happened that night – Cersei's rage, Tyrion’s party, Tywin’s and Petyr’s shouting match – but Jaime had read the words several times over the past year. He could probably quote them off by heart if needed. 

He folded the paper into it’s well-worn square and stuck the yellowing article back into his trouser pocket. He’d be transferring it to the drawer in his office as soon as he got back to work, where it would sit on top of all the ones about Aerys. Jaime knew he shouldn’t still be carrying it about with him, but he liked to have it close. So he could remind himself how far he’d come and how different his life could be. 

The past year of his life had been one of the hardest, and yet the best of his life. He’d feuded with his father on the daily, he’d been trapped in meetings with lawyers weekly, and the public had turned against him, calling him a heartless bastard in the street. 

The last one hadn’t bothered him that much. He’d been called a lot worse. 

‘Well, don’t you scrub up well,’ said Tyrion as he slipped through the door leading into the antechamber Jaime was currently being hidden in. The door was a thick wood, and as such Jaime could hear no noise from the outside, although he imagined it was carnage. 

Jaime grinned at his little brother. ‘We all know these people are the best at what they do.’ He‘d already admired himself in the mirror once the make-up team had left, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Tyrion. He‘d never hear the end of it. 

Plus, the slight sprinkling of grey at his temples was in full view, and as much time as Jaime could look at every other part of his attire, his gaze kept drifting to the little patch above each of his ears. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’ 

Tyrion waved his compliment away as he made his way further into the room. ‘What can I say,’ Tyrion said. ‘I got all the good genetics.’ 

The brothers settled into two hardbacked chairs around a small table. Jaime glanced at his watch. Just half an hour to go. There was no fluttering of butterflies in his stomach, no qualms or questions running through his head. 

‘How is everyone doing outside?’ Jaime asked. He thought of all the guests gathered outside, all of those who’d come to see him today. He knew there were bodyguards outside as well. Petyr had told him they’d been hired to make sure nobody could get in, but Jaime knew they were there for him too. Just in case he did another flint. 

‘Oh, the same as usual,’ Tyrion said. ‘The ones we like are excited, the women are squealing about everything. Father and Petyr are both walking around greeting everyone like this was all down to them, and they’ve pulled together the event of the year.’ A cruel smile lit his face. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to sneak out? Just for a little while. I’d pay to see what their faces looked like then.' 

Jaime gave his brother a look. ‘Never mind,’ Tyrion sighed. ‘It was just an idea.’ 

Jaime didn’t take Tyrion’s words to heart. He knew that his brother would probably be as heartbroken as everyone else if Jaime left. Tyrion had tried to hide his feelings, but he’d got a little drunk one night a few weeks ago and spilled his guts to Jaime, about how excited and happy he was for him, and how it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving man. 

Jaime wasn’t sure he still believed him. But it was getting easier when he fell asleep each night, encircled in Brienne’s strong arms. 

* 

As Jaime had known it would be, his peace with Brienne had lasted until 6am the morning after his failed wedding to Cersei. That was when a private detective hired by his father had pounded on Brienne’s door, waking them up, getting them to stumble out of bed. Jaime had still been trying to pull his trousers up his legs when he’d been frogmarched out, Brienne’s worried ‘call me later’ echoing behind him. He’d cursed his father all the time he was being driven to the Lannister offices. It wasn’t like Jaime wasn’t ever going to talk to his father again. He was planning on speaking to everyone at some point over the next few weeks, once he got his phone back – he'd left on Tyrion’s person at the non-wedding -, but at a more respectable time of day. When people were awake. And when he had a little bit more courage inside him. 

Tywin had been sitting at his big black desk, and hadn’t even bothered to look up when Jaime entered. It was an old tactic of his, to make the person who’d been summoned wait, to give them time to think about their mistakes, and to make them sweat. 

Only Jaime wasn’t feeling like he’d done much wrong. If anything, he had to stop himself from smiling as his mind was awash with the memory of Brienne’s legs wrapped around his own, of her skin brushing his, of her sleepy-eyed slash dash smile this morning even as they knew what was coming. 

‘Did you think your little trick was going to work?’ his father had asked after fifteen minutes. Jaime had been eyeing up the hardbacked chair opposite Tywin for the past two minutes. He was still tired himself, and could use a sit down. ‘You’re lucky I got to you before Petyr did. He‘s foaming at the mouth, and there's talk of suing us both.’ 

‘I imagine you already have the lawyers on it,’ Jaime said. ‘And I don’t see what he’s got to complain about anyway. He wanted drama, and a run away groom gives him that.’ Jaime shrugged like his actions hadn’t been a big deal, even though he knew they would've been. 

If anything, Jaime was actually quite glad for his father. He knew Tywin would take responsibility, and deal with all the lawyers and Petyr himself. It wasn’t that Jaime minded facing the consequences of his actions. 

It was just that he'd much rather spend time with Brienne now that they finally were together. 

‘You don’t think I've tried this approach with Petyr?’ Tywin asked. He placed the pen he was using down on the paper in front of him, and gazed at Jaime. ‘I've told him how he'll get more mileage out of you running then he would have from a nice wedding. This way Cersei can sell her stories, as can you. The longer you keep quiet the more people will hunger for the story. Petyr is struggling. He can’t seem to see over the refunds he has to provide. He says it sets a bad precedent for The One, having the first ever suitor run off.’ 

‘I didn’t mean to cause Petyr any distress,’ Jaime said. He might not like the guy, but it was the truth. He hadn’t deliberately set out to cause anyone pain. He hadn’t really been thinking about the ripple effects either. ‘I'll pay for the refunds myself,’ he said. ‘And Petyr knows he still has my contract for two weeks. He can make me speak to all the magazines and press he wishes.’ 

‘Petyr has a contract that says you'll marry the contestant the public select for you, live on TV,’ Tywin said coolly. ‘But you broke that promise.’ There was silence. Jaime had nothing to say. He'd done what he'd done and he didn’t regret it. Not even for an instant. Petyr could throw whatever he wanted to at Jaime, and he'd take it. 

Jaime never thought the day would come where he was grateful for his father or Petyr Baelish, but they'd forced him onto this show, and without it he never would have met Brienne. All the shit he'd have to wade through to keep her would be worth it. 

‘Naturally I'm going to offer Petyr the money for the refunds,’ Tywin said. ‘I just like to see him suffer.’ Jaime almost thought his father’s lips had twitched into a brief smile, except he knew his father was humourless. 

Although if anything was enough to make him smile it had to be the thought of making Petyr Baelish squirm. ‘And the lawyers are already on the case. Whatever Petyr wants as compensation for you running off, we'll give him.’ 

Jaime waited for his father to tell what the catch was. Tywin had never been known to stick up for either of his sons before. 

‘And you needed to hire a detective to drag me out of bed at 6am to share this with me?’ Jaime asked. 

‘I thought it prudent to remove you from your lovers flat before Petyr sent his people,’ Tywin said. ‘Or before the pesky photographers showed up. That Greyjoy woman almost blew your cover last night, but we might still be able to get away with filming you as the devoted bachelor who just wasn’t ready to settle down. I doubt it’s a good idea to flaunt your new relationship in the public’s face this soon. No matter how much they seemed to love Brienne.’ 

Jaime nodded, slowly. Him and Brienne had agreed last night that they weren’t going to let the public know they were together at least not for a while. They knew not to bother trying to hide it from those closest to them. Brienne had already told him when they'd woken up at 3am about the messages she'd received and he imagined he had practically the same ones on his phone. 

‘What do you suggest I do?’ Jaime asked his father. 

‘Go back to your flat,’ Tywin said at once. Jaime knew his father probably hadn’t been to bed yet – he could see his wedding suit jacket hung over the back of Tywin's chair. His father wore it well. He looked as iron faced as he usually did. Tyrion had always joked when they'd been boys that their father never slept, and instead growled the hallways, just waiting for one of them to sneak out. 

‘Lay low for a few days. No doubt Petyr will want to talk to you, but I'll hold him off till we've come to an arrangement about what you owe him.’ Jaime wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but he knew better than to question it. Petyr Baelish owned his arse, and there was nothing he could do about it. He'd have to do as Petyr said, ask how high when Petyr said jump, and a whole other number of nightmares Jaime couldn’t even hope to dream up. ‘Tyrion is already waiting at yours, although I'm told he only arrived there fifteen minutes ago. I'd assume he's passed out in your flat somewhere, but you can speak to him when he wakes. Don’t speak to the press until a statement has been drafted.’ 

‘Anything else?’ Jaime asked. He was weary, and he thought longingly of the bed at his flat. It had been six weeks since he'd been home and while the hotel hadn’t been a difficult place to sleep, nothing ever felt like your own bed. 

Well, Jaime thought and a smile flit across his face as he remembered last night, usually nothing felt as good as your own bed. 

‘Are you sure about this?’ Tywin asked. ‘I know it’s too late to marry Cersei, but are you sure you want to tie yourself to Brienne Tarth?’ 

Jaime looked at his father in surprise. After his words in the hospital, Jaime would have thought his father would have been pleased with his choice. 

‘I'm sure,’ Jaime said in a voice that was more of a warning. He might have let his father skim insults about Cersei in front of him, but he wasn’t going to let that stand for Brienne. Tywin had no place in their relationship. 

‘You two are going to make for an interesting couple,’ Tywin said at last. Jaime felt himself bristle. He'd seen a few articles published during the contest, scoring the remaining women on several factors and saying who came out on top. Brienne always came low down in the looks department, something Jaime had always gotten a ten out of ten for. ‘She’s not going to put up with any of your sulky, sullen behaviour.’ 

‘I don’t have any sulky, sullen behaviour,’ Jaime said, before remembering the conversation he'd had with Brienne last night. He could be a little sulky. A bit sullen. A tad too self involved. 

But it was okay. Because Brienne would roll her eyes and dig her own feet in and match him mood for mood and she'd still love him anyway. 

‘She’s going to keep you on your toes,’ Tywin said, and he sounded to Jaime, almost like he was quite looking forward to watching. 

* 

A knock on the door sounded, and Tyrion called out for the person to come in. Theon Greyjoy stuck his head around the door, looking the smartest Jaime had ever seen him look. Sansa’s doing he knew. With both Theon’s sister and girlfriend involved in today’s proceedings there was no way he’d be able to escape, and sit out. Instead he’d been thrust into a suit, the collar of which he kept tugging, and his hair had been cut and combed so he was almost unrecognisable from the scruffy man Jaime had met ten months ago. 

Next to Theon stood a brooding Robb Stark, arms folded over his chest. Unlike Sansa who had been caught up in the romance of Jaime and Brienne and their star-crossed lovers story, the rest of the Starks still treated Jaime like he was a poisonous animal, who was just biding his time until he was ready to strike. Catelyn put on a brave face for Brienne’s sake, greeting Jaime coolly whenever it was required the two of them be in the same room together, but all the rest of them ignored him. Even the younger ones, who took their lead from their father. 

Jaime didn’t blame them. He was grateful they hadn’t tried to turn Brienne against him, or asked her to choose between him and them. Instead, when she’d finally gone to the Starks, telling them of her and Jaime’s relationship, a few weeks before the press had got a hold of the story, Brienne had said they’d all just looked a little resigned, like they knew it was going to happen. 

‘Sansa and Margaery have sent me to make sure everything’s okay,’ Theon said. ‘And Sansa wants me to see if you’re planning on doing a runner,’ he said, looking at Jaime. ‘I’m supposed to look for subtle signs, but I can’t be fucked, so if you are can you just tell me?’ Jaime knew there had been a lot of drinking last night in the hotel, not that he’d expected anything less. With most of the contestants from The One, plus Bronn, Pod, Tyrion, The Hound, the older Starks, countless Lannisters and Selwyn Tarth he knew it was bound to be a big night. Jaime himself had opted out, choosing instead to spend his evening in his hotel room. 

He hadn’t quite been alone, but he saw no need to tell anyone about that. After all, he’d never been very good at following rules. 

‘You can tell her that I have no plans to run off,’ Jaime said. ‘I’m staying.’ Robb’s face seemed to drop a little. ‘Sorry,’ Jaime told the Stark boy, who then looked disgusted that Jaime had dared to speak to him. 

‘Brilliant, that’s me all done then,’ Theon said. He turned, gesturing for Robb to follow him, leaving the door to shut behind them. 

‘Friends with the Greyjoys and the Starks,’ Tyrion mused. He seemed to produce a flask of something from somewhere about his person. ‘Who would have thought.’ 

‘We’re not friends with them,’ Jaime said. ‘It’s just by proxy.’ 

‘They come to all our celebrations,’ Tyrion said, holding one finger, like he was ticking items off a list. ‘Sansa Stark spends several nights a week at your flat, which I know is only because her job is closer, but still. Both the Lannister company and Sapphire have sponsored a section of the new Greyjoy water park. Catelyn Stark even offered father a napkin the other night when someone spilled a drink down him. A year ago she would have laughed.’ 

Jaime had to admit that was true. Things from a year ago were so different now. He knew most of it was Brienne’s influence. She hadn‘t asked the Starks to go easy on him and his father, he knew that. Brienne was of the mindset that they’d made their own bed, and they could lie in it for as long as the Starks made them. She wasn’t going to get involved in their personal dramas, but she wasn’t going to play piggy in the middle either. She loved both of them, but she would keep her mouth shut. 

She’d kept her word. 

‘How are the women holding up?’ Jaime asked his brother. He was starting to get a slightly sick feeling as he remembered how big this event had turned out to be, but he quickly pushed it down. This was what he had to do. This was what he owed. And if he was feeling nervous, it was nothing to how Brienne must be feeling. She’d practically had a panic attack when she’d seen the final size of the thing, but she’d pulled herself together well enough, and grit her teeth and Jaime knew she was determined to go through with it. 

‘Oh, they’re all ridiculously excited,’ Tyrion said. ‘Which is understandable. Some of them thought their time in the sun was coming to an end, but this will thrust them right back into the limelight, at least for a day or two.’ 

In the end, they’d managed to get 17 of the previous contestants to attend today. Jaime had seen a few of them arriving briefly at the start, but there hadn’t been much time to chat to them. Brienne had kept him updated of their movements over the past year, anyway, and he felt a little glow. This TV hadn’t just helped him find what he hadn’t even known he’d been looking for, but it had helped majority of people who’d appeared on it too. 

Selyse was here today, wearing a slinky black floor length dress. Just like she’d wanted her career had been boosted from her time on the show. She’d published a book all about her heartbreak, and how much it hurt not being able to see her daughter, and she was now a panelist on a day time talk show where elder ladies gave their opinions on newspaper articles, like they were discussing how to put the world to rights. 

Myranda was here too, in a dress that Jaime had raised an eyebrow at when he’d glimpsed it, but then turned away. At least Bronn would be happy. Brienne had refused to have Myranda’s off/on again boyfriend, Ramsay here, so Myranda was walking around with a sulky face on, but Jaime had seen her slip her business card for her new discreet escort business into several of his father’s contacts pockets. He wished he didn’t know about how her business offered a ‘kinky service, here to live out all your wildest fantasies’, but thanks to Bronn, he not only knew that, he knew the insides and outs too. 

Roslin Frey was here, and from what Jaime had seen was quite taken with Catelyn‘s Starks younger bachelor brother. Every time he’d left his small room today, Jaime had walked past Roslin and Edmure, chatting quietly to each other. He’d seen a few people raise an eyebrow, but there was a bigger age gap between Brienne and Jaime, so if they had anything to say they kept their words to themselves. Roslin had had a great year, showing off her passion for knitting on a talk show after she‘d left the show. She now had a whole business, and sold her wears on the shopping channel, showcasing the latest designs you could make too for the low low price of £39.99 and up to five hours of your time! 

Osha had only responded to their invitation a week ago, which caused all the planners to go into meltdown, but as she‘d told them, it wasn’t her fault. She was now travelling around the world, roughing it as much as she could, staying in hostels, a giant backpack containing her only possessions on her back. 

Which was great, Jaime supposed, except that the only reason people knew about it was because of her Instagram account, where her followers built up and up. Osha and Brienne shared the same agent, so Jaime knew that once Osha had had enough of slumming it around the world, she’d be coming back to a huge house with all the luxuries one could ever possibly want. 

Ros, Jaime could practically hear, even though the thick wooden door. Her laugh was braying and she seemed to be doing it as much as she could today, hoping to attract the attention of as many rich guys as possible. Surprisingly, she was the one who’d gone to ground after the show, spurning interviews and going back to living a normal life. But she seemed to still be having fun, and since she’d only been in the contest as Petyr’s mole, it wasn’t like she’d been looking for a life change. Jaime knew she was still one of Petyr’s favourites – they’d attended a couple of parties together, and the rumour mill was going into overdrive talking about them. 

Gilly was here, with Sam, a man Jaime had been introduced to after the show. Both of them were pleasant, and soft-spoken, and Jaime liked them, even though they mostly kept to themselves. With a young son to look after they couldn’t really attend the parties everyone else was invited too, although Jaime got the feeling that they wouldn’t want to. It had come as a bit of a shock to the public when Gilly had been spotted out with a huge baby bump, and even more when a tabloid had got hold of her and Sam’s small marriage just three months after The One had ended. Jaime always thought that would probably have been the scandal that everyone remembered the first season for. 

Except three days later him and Brienne had blown it all away. 

Talisa was outside too, but Jaime hadn’t seen much of her. He knew that her and Brienne had grown closer since Talisa had been hired to help Brienne look after her injury in the house, and that Talisa would be by Brienne’s side now. She‘d also shunned the celeb lifestyle, saying that nursing was the life for her, and she‘d faded back into the shadows almost as if she’d never been on the show at all. It was only her love for Brienne that had brought her back today, Jaime knew. 

Jeyne, Pia, and Shae had all arrived together. They were the three who were still thrusting themselves into the limelight, in whatever way they could. They’d each released a single that had flopped, and they accepted each and every product they were paid to promote on Instagram, even ones they knew they’d get ripped apart for. Tyrion had seen Shae for a while after the show, but it had quickly fizzled out once he’d learned that she used to be with their father. Jaime knew Tyrion was trying to avoid her today, which was probably why he was mooching about with Jaime, instead of being outside where all the fun was happening. 

Melisandre had gone back home, although she still made the odd appearance in the UK. She was wearing a stunning red dress today, her ruby necklace glittering around her neck. Jaime wasn’t really sure what she was up to these days, but she seemed content, and he didn’t really care, so he left it there. 

Ellaria was here as well. Her voice over work had gone from strength to strength, and her over the top wedding to Oberyn had had the public queuing outside the venue for days just to catch a glimpse of her. Brienne had been a bridesmaid, although she’d hated the short skimpy dress Ellaria had put her in. She’d changed as soon as possible, which Jaime had only been a little bit regretful about. Ellaria and Oberyn had their own late night talk show now, where they advised viewers on how to spice up their sex life. 

Missandei was here too, although she looked a little nervous and Jaime couldn‘t blame her. Both him and Brienne had discussed it several times, and had agreed that Daenerys – who was one of only two previous contestants not to be asked to come today – was probably hiding out in her new best friend’s home town. Missandei had moved to the UK with her silent and good-looking boyfriend Grey just a few months ago, and was still adjusting to life not under her parents thumb. 

Yara and Ygritte would beside Brienne too, Jaime knew. He saw both of them a few times a week, and they’d come to accept him, which he supposed was really all he could ask for. They both occasionally made jokes about how either of them could have ended up with him, then looked him up and down and said ‘no thanks,’ before bursting into laughter. Yara, who was now running her father’s waterparks after an infection had laid him out for a few months was always super busy, but she’d worked with Brienne and Jaime on their sponsored parts of the new water park she was building in the UK, and Jaime had been impressed. The girl knew what she was doing. 

Ygritte hadn’t had the TV show change her life, although she was still holding out hope that she’d meet Jon Snow one day soon. Instead she was living it up, partying as much as she could, advertising her Dad’s beer on her social media, and just having a grand old time. 

Margaery and Sansa, Jaime had last seen this morning, when they’d knocked on his hotel room door, and hauled Brienne from his room, their whispered shrieks echoing down the hall. They’d told her not to spend the night with Jaime, that it was supposed to be bad luck, but she’d just rolled her eyes, and told them they’d have enough bad luck to last a lifetime, they’d always be able to handle a little more. 

Margaery was flowering since the show. She’d always been on track to become the second coming of her Grandmother, but now with social media at her fingertips and a fast thinking mind, she was becoming the darling of the UK. She’d already featured on several rich lists over the past few years, but Jaime knew it would only take her a few more years before she was topping them, and this would be with money made in her own right. Brienne had been a little worried about her for a while, concerned that Margaery was focusing so much on the business that she wasn’t really looking out for herself. Brienne had said she knew what that was like. 

Then, a few weeks ago, Margaery had started making sounds about Podrick, and she’d confessed in a drunken speech that she needed someone to clean the pipes and she’d become almost obsessed with seeing how good Pod actually was in bed. Jaime was hoping tonight, with drink flowing and everyone in high spirits, he could nudge the two of them together. They’d be a cute couple. 

Sansa, who had gotten a job in a fashion house just around the corner from Jaime and Brienne’s new flat did spend a lot of time on their sofa. Not that either of them minded. While, Jaime pretended his didn’t, although having a Stark in the house was the biggest passion killer he’d ever found. Some nights Sansa spent with Theon, but Brienne always worried that she’d get some kind of infection from his place, and was much more relaxed when Sansa was at theirs. Jaime had suggested several times that Sansa find her own place to live, but the woman wasn’t planning on being in this job for long, and was just waiting for something else to come up before she put roots down. Her and Theon had settled into a normal, loving, relationship, which Jaime had heard more details about than he’d ever cared to. 

And then there was Brienne. The show had elevated her to a new status, that while she might not have been happy with, she took in her stride. Her father was letting her take more of a hand in his business, which was great. She was still startled when people asked for a picture in public, although she always said yes. Which had been their downfall. 

Once the show had ended, they’d been so cautious. Sneaking into places one at a time, and always places they could count on not to sell stories to the press. They didn’t follow each other on social media, and at the party that Petyr insisted be filmed where Jaime had to meet the contestants who could have won his hand, they’d filmed their five-minute segment, greeting each other, and making casual inquires about each other’s time in the show. They’d focused on their businesses by day, and each other only at night when no cameras could see them. They’d instructed everyone they knew who might be talked to and asked about them to be careful what they said, and they almost had a perfect plan for how to tell the world they were together. (They were going to be booked on the same magazine shoot, the first that Brienne could give after her scar had settled. Jaime would be there too, and a fun photo would be posted online. Things would lead on from there, and then a couple of months later, they’d be pictured together holding hands as they left a restaurant from the back door.) 

The public had been told that Brienne had been injured after a break in at the Sapphire headquarters, while she was working late one evening. She’d fought the robber off, but had sustained a small injury in the process, and she was doing fine. 

On the day of Brienne’s final appointment with the doctor, Jaime hadn’t been able to resist going with her. It was a big building, and even if someone had spotted them, he’d just make up an excuse about an appointment for his hand. It had been fine. Nobody had said anything to them while inside, and Jaime had been so excited that Brienne finally had the all clear, that her face was almost fully healed, except for the scar that remained, that he’d insisted on them going to a small park that was nearby to celebrate with ice cream. 

Brienne had been spotted, and even though Jaime had slunk out of the picture the fan had asked for, he’d been caught in the background, sitting at a picnic table, trying to mind his own business. The fans had picked up on it, and then the press, and their whole plan for telling the nation they were together crumpled. They couldn’t control the fans that flooded social media, analyzing everything the two of them had been seen doing over the past couple of months, tying them together in places only one of them had been seen in, or picking up on secret smiles whenever one of them was asked about the other. 

It was out. Fans began to put two and two together, and in the end, it seemed pointless to stop them. They left it a little longer, before they confirmed or denied anything, and even then it was down to Jaime. 

They’d gone on a little holiday, no longer worried about being exposed. Brienne had taken him to her family island, where she’d spent majority of the previous two years. When they’d come back they’d be moving into their flat together, both of them too old and too weary to want to wait any longer to start living their life with each other. 

He’d taken a picture of Brienne in the sea. It was of her back, and it was blurry, but you could tell it was her crop of white blonde hair, her legs extending from the water, the blue of her eyes that lapped around her shins. 

He’d captioned it with a heart emoji, and then refused to look at his phone for the rest of the holiday. 

Most of the women kept in contact with each other now days, although there were always going to be little groups that broke off and talked more. Apart from Daenerys whose name was just always passed over as though she’d never really existed, only one woman had refused to come today, not that anybody blamed her, or wanted her. 

Cersei. 

* 

It took Jaime two weeks before Cersei called him back, and when she did, she named a time and a place. He knew he had to be there, that it would be his only chance to talk to her. And he needed to talk to her. 

He’d been directed to a small flat in one of the grottier parts of London. Unwashed net curtains hung from the windows, and the staircase smelled like urine. It wasn’t where he thought Cersei would be hiding out, but he supposed if she didn’t want to be found this was the kind of place nobody would ever look for her. 

The twins had gone back to school a week ago, and Jaime was glad he wouldn’t have to deal with them. He didn’t think he’d be able to take their gazes full of anger as they judged him for walking out on their mother. 

‘You look well,’ he’d said, as he’d stepped into the flat Cersei had called him to. She was sitting in an armchair, wearing jeans and a buttoned-down shirt, and he’d almost done a double take. He didn’t think Cersei even knew what jeans were. 

‘Turns out it’s surprising what being jilted at the alter can do for a woman,’ Cersei said. Her head was tipped to one side, and Jaime had taken a seat on the sofa, making him lower than her. For the first time he felt like he should have brought some protection with him. Bronn and The Hound at least. He wasn’t convinced that Cersei was the type of person who’d hire a hit man to kill him, not when all trails would lead back to her...but then again, he wasn’t entirely convinced that she wouldn’t. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. There really wasn’t anything else to say. ‘I didn’t want to do that to you. I did love you.’ 

‘I don’t care about excuses,’ she snapped. ‘You made me look a fool on national TV. Do you know the kinds of looks I get now? People feel sorry for me. I could deal with it when I had to play the grieving widow, but not when it’s because someone decided they didn’t want me.’ 

‘I couldn’t go through with the marriage,’ Jaime said. 

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Was it such a horrible prospect, you marrying me? I seem to recall that being all you’ve ever wanted.’ 

‘For a long time, it was,’ Jaime said. ‘But you know as well as I do that times changed.’ He looked at her then, noting how she wasn’t really meeting his eyes. ‘But you didn’t want to marry me either, did you?’ 

Her eyes flashed. ‘Maybe I didn’t,’ she said. ‘But you could have gone through with it, and not made me a laughing stock.’ 

‘I thought that once we were married...’ he trailed off, not really sure how to say it. Yes, he’d wanted Cersei, for a lot of reasons. But she’d wanted him too. 

‘You thought I’d make you stay in the marriage until you died, is that it?’ she asked. She didn’t wait for his reply. ‘And instead of talking to me, or even sending me a text asking what I wanted, you just assumed if you went through with the wedding, you’d be stuck with me forever, something you always claimed you wanted.’ 

‘I asked you if you loved me,’ Jaime said. ‘And I didn’t want to humiliate you. You have to believe I had no intention of doing that.’ She gazed at him for a while. 

‘Oh, what does it matter?’ she said, standing up and sweeping into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room from a wooden shuttered door. ‘You did what you did, and I’m sure you’ve got a million excuses for me. Nothing will change it.’ She pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, pouring herself a glass. The place was in darkness, so she appeared as though a shadow, moving through the gloom. 

‘You seem awfully okay about this,’ Jaime said. 

‘After it happened, I would have gladly seen your head on a spike,’ Cersei said, sitting back down. ‘But I’ve calmed down, somewhat. Oh sure, I could ruin your life in a thousand different ways. I could tell the press all about our scheme and how we’ve taken them all for fools. I could spin stories about how horrible you are, and I could take down Brienne by slagging her off on Twitter.’ She took a sip from her glass. ’But in this day and age, that’s just going to reflect badly on me, and I know your new lady love wouldn’t bother to dignify me with an answer. I’d just come across as the mad jilted lover, and probably gain her more fans in the process.’ She sighed, a bitter sound that traveled around the small room. ‘No. As much as it pains me, the only thing I can really do is pray you two implode.’ 

Jaime had expected much worse. 

‘From what I hear,’ Jaime said, and he knew he had to be cautious here, ‘you weren’t exactly all alone after the wedding.’ He’d heard people talking about how her and her children had been driven off in a car, and Yara had been very quiet on the subject on her family whenever it came up. 

‘You may as well know,’ Cersei said. ‘I’ve found someone else too. He’s called Euron.’ She seemed to frown for an instant. ‘I think I love him, but if you tell anyone I’ve told you that, I’ll rip out your heart and send it to Brienne.’ 

‘That’s why you acted so weird,’ Jaime said. Cersei gave one small nod of her head, her jaw tight. 

He knew what it meant for her to admit her feelings. They’d been so young when they’d got together that her walls and defenses hadn’t really had time to be built, but he‘d seen them go up, one by one, and he knew she’d never express any weakness unless she had to. 

‘He caught my attention at the party you staged,’ she said, ‘and I hated being in that house, away from my children, surrounded by women who all seemed to be having a great time. I don’t regret that I didn‘t make any friends there, but it was lonely, hiding in my room with just Joffrey, while their laughter rang from downstairs. Euron made me feel seen in a place where I was constantly battling for attention. He gets me,’ she said. 

Jaime thought he’d feel something when Cersei finally admitted it. Brienne had hedged around the questions he’d asked her about Cersei seeming a little different, and although he had his suspicions, he’d wanted it confirmed. 

He didn’t feel anything. Not anger, that he’d been cheated on – not that he had any right to judge -, not a sadness for what could have been. If anything, he felt a little giddy. Cersei had someone else. 

Good luck to him. 

‘We’re a mess, aren’t we?’ he said. There was nothing left to say to this woman who’d featured in his life for so long. They should have said their goodbyes, years ago. 

‘Well, we did always say we were the same,’ Cersei said. ‘Goodbye Jaime.’ 

He left then, and didn’t look back. 

* 

The last thing he’d heard of Cersei and Euron – thanks to Tyrion -, had been they’d moved closer to the twins school, and that Cersei was with child. Her and Euron were building their own company, and were already forces to be reckoned with. He was happy for her. She’d always wanted more kids, and from what Tyrion said she seemed more at peace now she wasn’t trying to grab onto something so desperately, scared of what would happen if it fell through her fingers. 

The only other thing he’d heard was one night when Brienne had smacked a hand to her head. 

‘I’m so stupid,’ she’d said, and when Jaime had asked her why, she’d told him about the rumour Margaery had spoken of, months ago, about Cersei sleeping with one of her cousins. ‘But she said he was called Lance, or something like that. Obviously, it was you and the name got changed somehow.’ Brienne had gone back to sleep, but Jaime had thought about his cousin Lancel and how he’d always noticed him and Cersei getting a little too close at family parties. 

Then he looked at Brienne, asleep next to him, and forgotten about everything else. 

‘Are you ready?’ Tyrion said, standing. ‘It’s time to go.’ 

Jaime stood too, giving his appearance one last quick glance. He’d do. 

‘Now, don’t yell at me, but I have to check,’ Tyrion said. ‘Are you sure this is what you want? I don’t mean Brienne, obviously, I’m not even going to go there, but I mean all this.’ He gestured out of the door where Jaime knew hundreds of people waited, where women in pretty dresses manned the aisle, where hundreds of thousands of pounds had been spent on flowers and other details, where cameras were placed so that every emotion would be captured. 

‘I promised the nation a wedding,’ Jaime said, running a hand over the beard he’d spent the last few months working on. ‘I intend to keep that promise.’ 

‘Alright,’ Tyrion said, ‘then I shall lead the way.’ 

* 

It had all come about rather sudden. Jaime and Brienne were still locked in a legal battle with Petyr, who was demanding they give him more and more because of what they’d taken away. He wanted more interviews, more photos, more appearances from them on his other lesser known shows. He wanted Jaime to appear as a judge on a new TV show, where he’d help to pick the new suitor for the next season of The One. Both their fathers were demanding more and more of them, and often these days they just fell into bed at the end of the evening, exhausted. 

One night, after a long day, they’d been lying in bed, Brienne curled up in Jaime’s arms, when she‘d let out the loudest groan Jaime had heard. 

‘What?’ he’d asked. Sansa was asleep in the other room, and he didn’t want to wake her. The Stark had the most annoying habit of bursting into their bedroom when she heard a weird noise. 

‘When we first met,’ Brienne said, her words slow. ‘I made a bet with myself.’ She turned to hide her face in the pillow. ‘A bet that said you’d never done a hard day’s work in your life.’ 

‘Okay,’ Jaime said, still puzzled. 

‘But you have worked hard,’ she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. ‘When you were undercover. Some would say you’ve worked harder than people doing normal jobs. The emotional impact alone...’ 

‘Okay,’ he said again. ‘Why does this bet cause you distress?’ 

She finally turned to look at him then. ‘Because I bet Oathkeeper.’ 

He felt the laughter rising up within, and he couldn’t contain it. He knew that if he asked Brienne would let him ride his old bike, but she‘d very firmly hinted that the bike was still hers. In truth, Jaime hadn’t minded. He had Brienne now, he didn’t really care much about his possessions. 

Although, it would be nice to have Oathkeeper back under him. ‘It doesn’t mean I’m letting you have it back,’ she said. 

‘A bet is a bet,’ he told her. 

‘I made it with myself,’ she argued. ‘Everyone knows those don’t count.’ 

‘Ah, but you’re an honest person Brienne,’ he’d said, chuckling and watching as the flush on her face turned a deeper pink. ‘Come on. Hand the keys to my bike over.’ He held out his hand, grinning at her, not surprised that she didn’t move at all. 

‘How about we share it?’ she said eventually. ‘I mean it’s not like either of us is likely to sell it. We’ll just have to share until the end of our days.’ 

‘End of our days?’ Jaime had said, his heart thumping painfully. ‘Careful, you almost sound like you’re proposing.’ 

Brienne stayed quiet. ‘Are you proposing?’ He shifted a little so he could look at her fully. 

‘I mean I thought you’d prefer Oathkeeper to a ring,’ she said quietly. She was playing with her hands, and Jaime took them in his to still her. ‘I’m just so happy with you,’ she said quietly. ’And I don’t want to have to wait another couple of years. I waited this long.’ She shrugged. ‘I’d kind of like to make you mine.’ 

‘I am yours,’ he said. ‘You know that.’ 

‘It was a stupid idea,’ she said, tugging her hands free. ‘Forget it.’ 

‘I’m not saying no,’ he said. 

‘You haven’t said yes,’ she said, ‘which basically means no.’ 

‘I’m saying that you can’t propose to me.’ 

‘Why?’ she asked, and now she was sitting up too, glaring at him, the moonlight washing her face in a pale glow. ‘If this is some stupid the man has to propose to the woman thing, Jaime, I swear...’ 

‘It’s because I’ve got a giant proposal lined up for you next week,’ Jaime admitted. ‘I know you’re going to hate it, so I was planning on doing a smaller one first, when we go back to Tarth. But Margaery and Sansa saw some of my plans and they insisted on going all out. There’s a flashmob. A band. Balloons. Margaery said something about doves and butterflies but I like to think she was joking. They’ve got most of the other women coming over for it too. They were technically there when we met. I thought you might like that I got them involved.’ 

‘Oh gods,’ she said, and this time she buried her face in her hands, but her body was shaking with laughter. ’It’s going to be a nightmare isn’t it?’ 

‘Very much so,’ he said, before kissing her on top of her head and pulling her back down to sleep again. 

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Does this mean...’ 

‘We’re engaged?’ he asked, a grin spreading over his face. ‘Yes, I believe it does. But let everyone have their fun next week. They’ve worked so hard on it.’ She gave another nod, and settled herself on his chest. 

He’d given her the ring in private a few moments before the women’s proposal had gone ahead. A simple sapphire, one that matched the gem in the hilt of his sword set in a gold band. She’d almost cried, and then Jaime had almost cried, but they’d put their best faces on, before heading out to see what everyone else had planned for them. 

Of course people had taken photos of the proposal. It had made it to the media within five minutes of starting, since Margaery had chosen a public place for it to happen. 

They’d had Petyr on the phone fifteen minutes later, where he‘d made them a deal. If they got married, on camera, before the new season of The One, they’d be free. He’d leave them alone to get on with the rest of their life in peace. 

It was too good an offer to pass up. 

Plus, as Brienne pointed out, she didn’t care what her wedding looked like, and this way Petyr and Tywin could plan the entire thing, and she’d be free to focus on more important tasks. 

Jaime always went to bed at the end of each night, thinking it wasn’t possibly to love Brienne Tarth any more than he already did. 

And every day, she always proved him wrong. 

* 

‘Congratulations you two,’ said a voice from behind, and Jaime turned, to find Davos the barman standing there. Brienne was already hugging him, the emotions of the day getting to her. He’d never seen his new wife – wife! - giving out so many hugs, and with tears in her eyes. 

He’d probably take the piss out of her if he didn’t feel the same. 

‘You came!’ Brienne said. ’I’m so glad.’ 

‘Ah, I wasn’t going to miss this,’ Davos said, looking around the room, wide eyed. Jaime had to admit, it was all a little over the top. Flowers and lights spilled from every surface, there were white covered tables and chairs with Sapphire blue bows wrapped around them along the edge of the dance floor. The place had one entire wall made from glass so you could see over the hills that made up the backdrop. Petyr wanted somewhere far enough away that fans wouldn’t be able to easily get to it. The show wouldn't air until tomorrow (it had been advertised as ‘find out what last year's contestants are up to now!), but with this many people invited it would have been silly of them not to expect a leak. ‘Think my wife would have killed me if I hadn’t come,’ Davos said. ‘Plus I wanted to see the two of you. You look splendid.’ Brienne smiled, the action causing her scarred cheek to rise high. It was a silvered line, slightly puckered, with a faint red outline. She hadn’t decided on plastic surgery, although the information was stored in her desk drawer. The truth was it just didn’t bother her that much. 

It bothered Jaime a little. Every time he looked at her face it was a reminder of things he’d rather forget, but just one look in Brienne’s eyes and he was usually okay again. He had the rest of his life to learn how to deal with it, and he knew if it ever did get too much, she’d have the surgery if he asked. 

‘We much rather would have had the reception in your bar,’ Brienne said, ‘but as I’m sure you’re aware we didn’t get much choice.’ 

‘No worries,’ Davos said. ‘The bar’s doing well. Everyone wants to see the place Jaime Lannister took a beating, and they more often than not end up staying. Must be the drinks.’ 

‘Must be the barman,’ Brienne said, giving Davos another hug, before she was whisked away by another guest. 

‘You’ve done well there,’ Davos said to Jaime. Jaime nodded. He knew it better than anyone. ‘Who would have thought?’ Davos asked. ‘You know, and I hope this isn’t as creepy as it sounds, but I’ve made you a little present.’ He fished a USB from his pocket, handing it to Jaime. ‘CCTV images of you two at the bar. They keep the tapes on file for a year, and it was coming up time to wipe them, but I copied them just in time. I haven’t included the night of the fight,’ Davos said, ‘but everything else is on there.’ Jaime looked at the little stick in his hand. Him and Brienne meeting in the car park. Him and Brienne talking at the table in the back. Brienne walking away from him again and again, and him telling her all his secrets. 

He smiled, and dropped the USB stick into a pocket inside his suit. 

The wedding had been perfect, although it wasn’t because of the details. They could have married in someone’s garden, or at a dive bar, or in a barn in the outskirts of London for all Jaime cared. Seeing Brienne walk towards him in a Sapphire Blue dress (this one not available for purchase), with a blue flower in her hair, and white roses in her hands, was the only thing that mattered. 

And even then she could have walked down the aisle in jeans and a t-shirt, with just got out of bed hair and carrying nothing and he wouldn’t have minded. 

‘Come on,’ Sansa had appeared from nowhere, and she grabbed his hand, hauling him to the dancefloor. Him and Brienne had already shared their first dance, but a band was setting up on the stage. ‘You’re going to want to see this.’ One minute, Jaime was all alone, and the next Brienne was next to him, and the other girl’s from The One were lined up around him, Ygritte standing out front and centre. Nobody seemed to have any idea what was going on, except there was a cameraman behind them all, and Sansa was up on the stage. 

‘Good evening everyone,’ she said, calling everybody’s attention to her. The other girls had all worn their bridesmaids dresses in the same colours they’d been assigned in The One, and Sansa was no different, in a dark grey dress that shimmered under the lights. ‘I know this is a little unorthodox, but then again let’s be honest, what about this wedding isn’t? I have a surprise for the bride and groom, who I hope like it. I wasn’t really sure what to get you, but I thought what would you like more than seeing love bloom?’ Jaime exchanged a puzzled glance with his wife, before seeking Theon‘s face out. The man was standing at the edge of the dancefloor, all the colour drained from his face. Jaime knew he loved Sansa, but they were both still so young, and they’d only know each other year. Jaime buried his face in his wife’s neck, so nobody could see him grin. Watching Sansa propose would be hysterical, as would Theon’s face. Robb Stark was already bent over in laughter. 

‘I reckon he’d accept it you know,’ Brienne whispered in his ear. ‘They’d have a long engagement, but it’s sweet.’ 

‘Anyway,’ Sansa said, moving on, ‘I just wanted to take a moment to say...Brienne, you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. You’ve always been there for me, offering to protect me. I remember the first evening of the show, where we found out who the suitor was and you offered to carry me out and knock down anyone who stood in your way.’ Everyone laughed. ‘I don’t think anyone could have seen this coming, but if there is one person I know who deserves happiness and love it‘s you. I’m beyond excited that you’ve found it, and I’m also thrilled that you let me help design your hair and make-up and dress for today. You know how long I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you!’ There was more laughter, and Jaime nudged Brienne as he noticed Margaery slinking off to the side to stand beside Pod. Brienne just shook her head. 

Next to Pod stood Bronn, a woman Jaime didn’t know on each of his arms. Jaime had been a little cold towards him when he’d eventually come back off his two-week trip, but Bronn had just asked him what the fuck he was so miserable about, it wasn’t like Jaime would have been going on the honeymoon anyway, and Jaime had let it slide. Bronn had a point. 

‘Brienne, I love you,’ Sansa said, and the audience clapped and cheered with her. ‘Jaime,’ Sansa said, and he tensed. He wasn’t about to get a declaration of love, he knew that much. ‘If you hurt her, everyone in this room will gladly tear you apart. But, since you haven’t yet, I suppose you’ll alright. To the bride and groom!’ Everyone raised their glasses, and Jaime let his tension go. He supposed he‘d gotten off easily. ‘And now, please welcome to the stage, the musical styling of...Jon Snow!’ Sansa clapped as she walked off the stage, then walked to stand by Theon, as a short man with wild black curly hair appeared on the stage. He launched straight into his song ‘I Know Nothing,’ and then a lesser known one. 

Brienne had pulled Jaime a step or two back, until the only person remaining near the stage was Ygritte. She was staring up at Jon, opened mouthed, unaware of all the people behind her. 

‘I showed him her picture a few months ago,’ Sansa said. She’d crept back up next to them for a good view of the show. ‘And his face. It was like everything he’d ever been looking for had come at once. I don’t really believe in love at first sight, but he wasn't able to talk for the rest of the day, and he went and watched all the episodes and backstage videos there were of her.’ 

Just then Jon jumped down onto the floor, and made his way to Ygritte. The band was playing behind him, but he’d stopped signing. 

‘Hi,’ Jon said. 

‘You're Jon Snow,’ Ygritte said. 

‘Yeah,’ Jon grinned. ‘Sansa told me about you. Would you like to get a drink after I’m done?’ If either of them were aware of the cameras, they didn’t show it. 

‘I’d like that very much, Jon Snow,’ Ygritte said, and Jon grinned at her, before jumping back on stage and throwing himself into another song. 

‘It’s funny,’ Brienne said to Jaime, as they stood, swaying in a crowd of people half of who they knew, half of who they didn’t. ‘I didn’t think this show would have any impact on my life whatsoever.’ 

‘Me neither,’ Jaime confessed and it was true. 

‘When I was first in the house, I thought I was in hell,’ Brienne said, the disco lights sparkling off her face. ‘And some parts were terrible, but it wasn't all bad.’ 

‘No,’ Jaime agreed. ‘It wasn’t all bad.’ 

‘It could have been a lot worse,’ Brienne said. 

‘How?’ he asked. 

‘If it wasn’t for you,’ she said, bringing her lips to meet his. 

‘That’s true,’ he murmured against her lips, ‘everything would have been a lot worse, if it wasn’t for you, either.’


End file.
